


"Monster" Is Just A Matter Of Perspective

by How_To_Be_A_Fangirl_101



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Always a titan!Eren, Armin's parents live!, Basically has all the characters, Can I tag that?, Contains both graphic and non-graphic violence, Eggbeaters, Eren is a cinnamon roll, Eren is a hermit, Gen, Honestly at this point I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going with this, I've decided I can, Kinda, May also contain peanuts, May contain Levi x Eren later, Right?, Titan Eren Yeager, Uncertain author, You'll see what I mean, a very large dangerous squishy Titan cinnamon roll, and a liberal helping of fluff, but I'm not sure yet, but later, but we'll have lots of fun getting there, for some reason, with a sprinkling of major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/How_To_Be_A_Fangirl_101/pseuds/How_To_Be_A_Fangirl_101
Summary: He remembers being human, remembers the way that his mother would sometimes run her fingers through his hair and hum a dancing tune; remembers the way that festival days made his town so much brighter and full of laughter and filled the air with newness. He remembers how his father taught him how to heal, teaching him the uses for herbs – on those days, his father would take him out to the forest and they would identify plant life and steal fruit to eat, and they would walk home stained with juice and carrying apples and pomegranates and blueberries for his mother.He also remembers the day he stopped being human; remembers the sting of the syringe in his upper arm and the regret filling his father’s eyes. He remembers the way his father’s soft flesh split and burst just like the peaches they would eat together, and he remembers how his father was composed and terrified – at least until he was bitten in two and then he screamed but only for a second until he was swallowed in halves.





	1. Best Of Intentions (Sometimes Aren't Enough)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This is my first time posting on this website, so bear with me if there are any formatting errors. This is also my first time writing anything in SNK/AOT. Please let me know what you guys think! Updates shouldn't be too slow, but knowing me, don't be surprised if I do take some time until the next update -- I'm just a poor college student with far too little time on her hands. 
> 
> Summary: Eren lives as a Titan in the Forest of Giant Trees. Most of the time, he forgets he was ever human, but he still tries to never harm any living creature. He is fine living alone, but then humans mistakenly are stranded in the forest, and, well, what's a Titan to do?
> 
> Disclaimer: I (obviously) don't own Attack on Titan or Shingeki no Kyojin.

 

 

 

          _He remembers being human, remembers the way that his mother would sometimes run her fingers through his hair and hum a dancing tune; remembers the way that festival days made his town so much brighter and full of laughter and filled the air with newness. He remembers how his father taught him how to heal, teaching him the uses for herbs – on those days, his father would take him out to the forest and they would identify plant life and steal fruit to eat, and they would walk home stained with juice and carrying apples and pomegranates and blueberries for his mother._

 

_He also remembers the day he stopped being human; remembers the sting of the syringe in his upper arm and the regret filling his father’s eyes. He remembers the way his father’s soft flesh split and burst just like the peaches they would eat together, and he remembers how his father was composed and terrified – at least until he was bitten in two and then he screamed but only for a second until he was swallowed in halves._

 

_He remembers later vomiting up orange sludge that crystallized into a hard, amber-like substance, and he remembers staring at his father’s dead eyes, uncomprehendingly, with the sense of an animal, before his reason returned and his form melted away, leaving him with the body of a weak boy. He remembers hugging the crystal and heaving great, ugly, shuddering sobs and hating himself for being weak and succumbing to bloodlust, hating his new race for its hunger, even hating his father for causing his change._

 

_He remembers being eleven and realizing that going back to his village would be impossible now that he is a kin-killer and race-traitor; remembers leaving his father’s remains to be discovered and running away from his familiar forest to another beyond the walls. He remembers being twelve and running afoul of a band of soldiers, and coincidentally, he remembers learning his flesh was impossible to permanently wound. He remembers being thirteen and building his own house deep in the heart of enemy territory. He remembers being twenty and losing control and destroying his house in a fit of rage. He remembers being thirty and looking down on his youthful, unblemished hands and realizing that he hadn’t aged past fifteen. After that, he stopped keeping track of the years and started staying in his other form for longer and longer measures of time._

 

_Most of the time now, he forgets that he was ever human at all, but when he remembers, he’ll steal baubles from human habitations and stare at them, touch them with one giant finger, perhaps try to recall what they were used for._

 

_Once, he had tried to reveal himself to a village of humans. He remembers the way they ran in terror, eyes wide with unbridled, mindless fear. Atlas, they called him, Titan, world-holder, mountain-crusher. He remembers thinking the name appropriate; a Titan tasked with the weight of the sky, but it wasn’t until years later than he realized exactly how appropriate that title was._

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          It’s raining, and even though the drops fizzle and steam in contact with his skin, he’s hunched under the protection of a wide-leaved tree on the edge of the forest. His hair hangs in sodden strings around his face as he glares balefully out into the gray-skied tranquility. He isn’t cold; his temperature runs too high for that, but nevertheless he dislikes the way the water finds its way into his eyes and the way the air feels clammy and vaguely suffocating and how it dampens all the natural scents in the area. At least it isn’t the kind of rain that stings and buffets and blocks out everything from sight but water. He snorts, steam rising in a lazy swirl.

 

          He had wanted to explore the abandoned human habitations near the forest again, but the rain made that impossible; he had once tried tearing off a roof and leaving the house open to the elements, and had come back later to find the delicate innards of the house ruined and waterlogged and its precious treasures destroyed.

 

          With an annoyed grunt, he turns to find better shelter, and that’s when he sees it. At first, he thinks it’s a malformed bird or a misshapen cloud, but then he sees human shapes in it, and so he watches it come closer and closer, curious about what this new contraption is. It makes to land in the field land in front of the forest, but there is a sudden wind that picks it up and throws it towards the forest, right in front of him. He whirls out of its way, and it catches on a tree right where his head had been. He stands still so that the humans in it won’t see him. One of the humans climbs out on a branch and starts yowling to the others inside the part hanging out in the air. Atlas watches, spellbound, as the one on the branch pokes and prods at the part held fast. He silently takes a step closer, and is able to see that the one on the branch is a male, and that there is another male, a female, and a -- what is the word ... tiny human in the hanging part. Fixed on learning more about this contraption and humans, he goes to take another step forward, and freezes as a log cracks underneath his foot, vainly hoping they won’t see him. His hopes are in vain, as the human on the branch shouts out to the others, and they turn and see him. He hunches down slightly in attempt to look harmless, but the female still screams, and he winces from the ringing in his sensitive ears. The tiny human is wailing, too, and he slumps even further. He didn’t mean to upset them; and so, he runs away and leaves the strange humans there, feeling strangely bereft and hurt. It doesn’t matter, though; they’ll be gone soon anyway.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Of course, when he comes back to the edge of the forest, they’re still there, stuck in the tree. He hides himself far enough away that they can’t see him, and sets about watching them from a distance. He can smell much better now that the rain is gone. The female smells of milk and the males of sweat. The tiny human smells like newness and feces, and is wailing pitifully at the female, who shushes it absentmindedly. What does it want? Food, water, things to play with? The tiny human wails again, and when no one pays attention to it, Atlas rumbles fretfully, protective instincts rising. Tiny things of all species are weak and need help to learn and grow. If the humans themselves will not care for their tiny thing, then it is up to Atlas to do so. The matter decided, he huffs out a trickle of steam and leaves.

 

          Water is an easy enough task. First, he gathers a broad, scooped leaf about the size of his palm and then tromps to a nearby narrow stream. Dipping the leaf in the water, he finds that the current is too fast and grumbles in annoyance. He finds a slower, wider stream and chirps when the leaf fills with clear water. Then, slowly, carefully, sliding one foot after the other, he makes his way to the humans’ tree and sets it down at the base after making sure they weren’t there at the moment.

 

          Next is playthings, and he has no idea of what a tiny human would want. So, he goes to a human house nearby and pries off the roof. Inside, there is a lot of wood things, which he decides against because the tiny human is already surrounded by wood. There are the soft feather-things, which he masterfully manages to not burst with his large fingers. Inside a wooden thing, there is something that glints metallically, and when nudged with the tip of one of his fingers, the top whirrs pleasantly. He snorts delightedly, and puts it on the palm of his hand along with the vine. In an open-faced wood thing, he finds things that look like leaves pressed together and etched with dirt. He thinks that humans like those sort of things, so those go in his palm as well. Deciding that his spoils are enough to keep the tiny human occupied, he wraps them in another leaf and drops them off as he did before.

 

          Now, hunting is another matter entirely. Atlas dislikes killing, and he has never hunted before. He’s seen solitary hunters trek through the forest and hunt with stick-throwers, but his hands are too large to hold one, and he has no weapons but his body. But, if puny humans do it every day, how hard can it be. As it turns out, very hard. On his first try, he bursts out of the cover of the trees too soon, and the herd of deer bound away and scatter into the closely-grown trees too quickly for him to follow. His second try results in a messy smear on the ground; the less said, the better. After that, he tries to hunt birds for a while, scaring them out of trees and clapping his hands together to form a trap. This ends worse than the deer, as his hands are pecked at by flocks of birds, and he eventually is swarmed and forced to retreat. So, he decides to aim for larger prey. He follows the scratches on trees and the scent markers, and finds his way to a small cave set in a hill. The bear is inside, and when it smells him coming, it tries to escape, but he is waiting outside. Its head is crushed with one well-aimed swat, and Atlas is pleased with his first successful hunt. The bear is deposited at the base of the tree along with his other offerings. Happy with himself, he puffs a jet of steam smugly. See, caring for tiny things is easy! He can only wonder why the humans weren’t doing so before.

 

          His ears twitch as he hears the sounds of the humans coming back. Quickly, he retreats behind another tree and watches the four humans chatter as they walk. One of the males notices Atlas’s offerings on the ground, and yowls to the others. They poke warily at the bear – _silly humans, can’t they see the bear is dead?_ – but eventually they use vines to tie his offerings and bring them up to their strange hanging machine. He coos in satisfaction, his vocal cords barely rumbling, because the tiny human isn’t yowling. Smiling to himself – or at least as much as he can with his mouthful of teeth – he leaves the humans to their devices and promises himself that he’ll visit again soon.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Atlas is shrouded in sunlight. Years ago, he had found this clearing which was large enough for him to lay down and still be in the sun. Even longer still, he had realized that his body absorbed the sunlight and loved it. He is laying on his back with his eyes closed, his only vision of the orange through his eyelids. Occasionally, a bird will fly by and chitter at something. He has been there for so long that even the deer are content to graze around him. He is at peace.

 

          His ear twitches at something inconsequential, and his nose languidly learns each scent borne to him on the wind. Today is a beautiful day; the leaves on the trees are shone through with golden light, the animals of the forest are happily going about their days, and most importantly – no rain.

 

          Humming thoughtfully, he opens his eyes. The humans would be out of meat by now, and he didn’t know if they would hunt. Perhaps this time he will try his hand at the herds of deer again. Unhurried, he moves his bulk into a standing position and searches for the scent of horned mammals.

 

          Miraculously, he emerges from his hunt with a not too brutally mutilated deer carcass, and considers it a success. Bringing his spoils back to the humans’ tree, he stops short upon smelling the humans still at the tree, and cautiously rounds a thicket to see the proof. One of the males is on the branch working on the part still stuck, and the others are in the hanging part. The male’s small fists suddenly pound at the bark in frustration, and Atlas, caught unaware, flinches slightly. What is wrong with the human? Do they not want to be in the tree? Is it just that they can’t get their flying machine down to the ground? Should he help them?

 

          He is drawn out of his musings when the male gets up and kicks at the branch in annoyance, but his foot slips against the bark and he topples out into the air. Atlas moves without thinking and catches the human in his palm. He blinks down at the male, half-surprised to see him there; the male blinks back, and then promptly starts screaming. The other humans are startled out of their shock, and also begin shouting. Atlas winces, and delicately tips the male into the hanging part before throwing the deer corpse at the base of the tree, and then races through the trees as quickly as his legs will carry him.

 

          He winds up on the other side of the forest. Breathing heavily, he rests his head against a tree trunk and sighs dejectedly through his nose. Perhaps he just has to try harder to make the humans unafraid of him. Yes, he would get them all the food and water they could want, _and_ run off any of his kind who dared show their noses around _his_ humans and _his_ forest. For as long as they stayed here, Atlas would protect the humans from his kin, and even himself if need be.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- If you can't guess, the contraption the humans arrived in is a hot air balloon. Now, armed with that information, three guesses on who is actually in the hot air balloon! *wink, wink*
> 
> \- The things that Atlas gathers from the human house, in order are: pillows, an eggbeater, and books. It was hard to describe ordinary things through the eyes of someone who doesn't know what they are, so I put them down here so you guys could know what I was talking about.


	2. Meeting You Is Like Meeting A Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who left a kudos or commented last chapter! Your support means a lot to me. Seriously. It brightens my day! 
> 
> Lastly, anyone who is confused about what is described or what I’m talking about in this chapter, don’t be shy; ask me anything you like, and I’ll try to clarify to the best of my ability.

 

 

 

          Today, the humans have left their tree and are exploring the forest. Atlas is there, of course, but at a safe distance. He watches with a careful eye and an even more attentive ear for any of his kind that should find themselves near his precious humans. The female and the tiny human are splashing in the water while the males are situated on the bank nearby. One of the males joins in, and Atlas can’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. What kind of being would _want_ to be surrounded by water – it’s worse than being rained on, in his opinion.

 

          A long time ago, Atlas had roamed far beyond his forest, and had explored for the sake of moving. He had seen the hills that rose from stone and stretched higher than him to the sky, had seen ground that sunk with the weight of a stone, had seen vast stretches of land that shifted underfoot and where no trees found root. He had seen strange animals that he had no words for – ones that their elongated necks grew to almost half his height, ones that lived in complete darkness and had no eyes, ones that ones that lived both on land and in water. And, once, he had come across a great swath of water. He had thought it was just a large pond, but as he made his way around it, there was no end, and so decided to wade across. At first, the water had been very shallow, no more than up to his ankles, but as he got farther and farther, it deepened. When it was up to his thighs, he made to turn around, but his foot had caught on something, and, as a redwood tree falls with terrible gravity and intent, so too did Atlas fall into the pristine, welcoming water. Flailing about for a time, he had thrashed as he sunk farther away from the sun. Walls of rock had closed about him as he desperately cast his eyes to the glimmers winking from the receding surface. Even now, Atlas is still unsure as to how he finally broke the surface of the water, but he plans to never again have the opportunity to find out.

 

          But that is beside the point. Atlas shakes himself from his stupor and once again turns his attention towards the humans who, apparently, have no such misgivings over the danger they are in. His eyes droop as the noonday sun works fingers into his shoulders, and he watches as the last male joins the rest in the river. Wistfully, he wishes he were their size and could join them in their joy and freedom.

 

          So caught up in his musings, that he doesn’t hear the thumps of giant footsteps, nor the slight whistling of a great mass traveling at speed. What he _does_ hear is the bellow his fellow Titan gives upon spying the humans in the midst of their play. Atlas, jolted into a panic, immediately roars back and lurches forward to intercept the other before it can reach the humans. It is close – the female is almost within the Titan’s grasp before Atlas barrels into it at full force. They land a good distance away, and Atlas scrambles to his feet quickly. Swinging a fist at the other Titan, he roars in anger as its face liquefies at his strike, but still it stumbles forward. He shoves it down with a screech of warning and begins to stomp it to smithereens. He starts with the arms and legs, then the head, then the torso, and only when a steaming heap of flesh is left does he realize that he’s been roaring the whole time. He hears whimpering behind him, and almost sheepishly, almost like a small child caught with a cookie, he turns to the humans, who are huddled on the edge of the trees. His ears droop in embarrassment, and he quickly spins on his heel to escape their wide and disbelieving, horror-filled gazes.

 

          He knows he enjoyed the brutal slaughter too much, but he can’t help it. He despises his kind for a multitude of reasons – some of which he himself can’t articulate. He has killed his kind before, many times, and will continue to do so. But it isn’t the humans’ way to kill their own kind in such a manner, and he worries whether or not his humans will ever come to trust in his intentions.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          The humans have been in his forest for a while, long enough for the leaves to turn red and gold and the animals’ coloring to change. Atlas worries what will happen to his humans when the cold wins leverage over the warm. Humans need shelter – heat and food – and their hanging part is very open to the elements. And he worries if the forest will grow too harsh for his poor stranded humans to survive. There are old human houses at the edge of the forest, but the humans haven’t explored that far yet. Perhaps he could lead them there, somehow? But would they leave their hanging contraption? He could just chase them to the houses, but that would scare them too much. Maybe he could lure just one of the humans to the houses, and they would tell the rest? That could work. Atlas had noticed that one of the males had been very interested in the pressed-leaf-dirt things he had brought the first time, so perhaps it could work as bait. Atlas snorts determinedly, and sets out in search for more of those strange pressed leaves (and perhaps a few of those soft-feather-things as well – the female had seemed to be very excited about their appearance near their camp).

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          After searching through enough houses, he has enough bait to cover his palm twice over, and starts setting each item carefully on the ground about a step’s length apart. He grumbles the few times he encounters a pond, but otherwise, he is pleased when the last pressed leaf reaches the base of the human’s tree. The humans are out and about doing various tasks, so he settles a ways away to watch for their return. It takes so long that the sun is buried in the ground before one of the males notices Atlas’s bait at the foot of the tree. Atlas waits in hungry expectancy as the human climbs down and picks up the pressed leaf; he calls to his companions, who yap back – and then climbs back up the tree. Atlas grinds his teeth and utters a displeased yowl under his breath. Perhaps a more … _direct_ method of transportation is required.

 

          He waits until the moon is high in the sky and the humans’ breathing is steady, and then slowly, s l o w l y, tentatively grasps the hanging part in one hand and tugs at the stuck part with the other. With barely any effort, the snag is released. Tiptoeing as much as something his size will allow, he tries to keep the humans from moving as much as possible. Now, he’s never been one for stealth, but as he makes his way through the forest, he can’t help but gloat a little. Of course, it’s then that a deer darts out right where his foot was going, and not wanting to kill the deer, he has to land awkwardly, accidentally jostling the humans as he does. He freezes, and carefully looks at the humans out of the corner of his eye. Seeing nothing amiss, he relaxes and starts moving again while he tries to gain a more secure grip on the hanging part.

 

          Unfortunately for him, he moves forward right into a tree, which partly shatters from the impact. Momentarily forgetting about his human passengers, he yowls in surprise and pain, one hand going to clutch his nose now full of bark splinters. As he does so, he remembers his humans, and freezes once more, peeking through his fingers at the woken humans. There is a hush upon the forest, then the air is filled with shouting. Atlas gulps, and moves quickly in the direction of the houses, holding his humans at arm’s length for their comfort. It doesn’t work. Soon, he is pelted with stick-throwers, wooden things, even the soft-feather things. It doesn’t hurt, but it distresses him that the humans are throwing away all their possessions to protect themselves against something that means them no harm.

 

          He is almost at the human houses, and he jogs lightly so as to not upset his human passengers. The barrage has not died down, and he sneezes as one of the stick-throwers goes up his nose. Up ahead, he sees the edge of the forest, and skids to a halt. The human houses are just ahead, and he sets the humans down as hastily as he can without destroying them or their hanging part, and beats a hasty retreat. From behind the camouflage of the trees, he watches as the humans warily leave their shelter and begin to explore their surroundings. It doesn’t take long for them to find the houses, and, one-by-one, they enter the dwellings. Atlas is practically vibrating in joy. His plan worked!

 

          He purrs a little, before remembering all the belongings that the humans had scattered on their way here. Would they want them back? Erring on the side of caution, Atlas sets out the way he came and starts gathering as much as he can. He has to use a piece of petrified bark, but manages to lever almost all of the humans’ things on his palm. He couldn’t find all of those stick-throwers, and most of their wooden things were broken, but all in all, he considers his efforts a success. Setting them down in the hanging part, Atlas leaves the humans to their business and settles down for the night far enough away that they won’t come across him should they choose to go out and explore later on.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          He sets up a temporary nest near the humans so he can know if they are attacked. His nest is nice enough; it’s a shallow dried-up pond that’s old enough to be covered with grass, it’s bounded by trees so it’s somewhat secluded, and there’s a hollowed-out willow tree that was the unfortunate victim of a bolt of lightning that he can put his human treasures in. His treasures consist of a few of those pressed-leaves (he’s trying to find why the humans like them so), a great number of those soft-feather things (okay, yes, not just for the female human), a few of those stick-throwers, one of those metal things that humans like to swing around, and his favorite, another metal spin-y thing like the one he had given the tiny human. This was all he needed in a nest, so he was quite happy indeed when he stumbled across it.

 

          It is night, so he lays down with his knees bent and his hands behind his nape as an unconscious protection. He doesn’t sleep; he never sleeps, unlike his kin, who lose all functionality when the sun dies for the night. No, he just slows down as the night wears on. Because of this, a while ago he started the habit of staring up at the stars and finding patterns and making stories about them.

 

There is the Solemn Huntress, armed with her moonlit-spun bow, stalking across the stars in search of her prey, the Diamond-Tailed Rabbit. But she never knows that her quarry hides within the Huntress’ figure, hidden in plain sight if the Huntress could see how.

 

There is the Fox-Hearted Prince who leaves tears scattered behind him like rose petals across the sky. He dances around his Castle of Clouds happy to make merry, as long as he ignores the air beneath his feet.

 

There is the majestic Great Stag whose antlers could break stone, endlessly circling his greatest foe, the Eagle-Eyed Serpent. The Serpent’s fangs are embedded in the Stag’s haunch, while the Serpent is crushed by the Stag’s weighty hoof. They spin around the sky in their deadly dance, neither one ready to give up just yet.

 

There is the Mother of Monsters at the height of the sky, her arms outstretched to her children underneath. The stars, the humans, the birds or the trees; all this and more she gave to the breeze. While her children fill the earth and the sky, her love is unending, much like her golden husband’s light. Mother of Monsters she may be, she knows that “monster” is just another word, just for show; for her children choose the path they walk on and grow.

 

          He is counting the stars in the Huntress’ belt when he hears a small noise at the gentle lip of the pond near his shoulder. He turns his head, and freezes at the sight of the tiny human. _What is it doing away from its herd? What is it doing here? What if the other humans come and find it here? Would they blame me?_ Stock-still and mildly panicking, Atlas watches the tiny human. It waves its stubby little hands in the air and pats the trunk of a fallen tree happily. Atlas blinks. It trills noisily and tries to eat grass. Atlas gulps helplessly. Then, it makes to climb down the gentle slope of the pond, and stumbles over a stick before it can start the way down. It starts bawling, and it is then that Atlas moves. Ever so carefully, mindful of his overwhelming strength, he sets his chin down on the grass about a tree’s length away and coos soothingly at the tiny human. It stops making its sad sounds, and stares wide-eyed in fascination. Atlas, thinking this might turn out horribly if he doesn’t do something quickly, snags the metal spin-y thing and taps the top with his finger; it spins around and throws out glints of light. The tiny human sniffles, then blinks and rubs its eyes with one tiny fist. Crisis averted, Atlas puts the thing away, and tries to make himself as small as possible. It’s not comfortable, but the tiny human looks more at ease.

 

          Trying something else, he wiggles his nose and his ears. It works! The tiny human trills again, and gets to his feet. That is where Atlas’ plan fails; the tiny human toddles towards his face reaching for his nose. _Uh-oh, oh no, oh no, nonono._ It makes contact, and he stares at it cross-eyed. It burbles and pats his nose in much the same way it patted the tree trunk. Then, it pats its own nose and sits down with a plop. For some time, it taps various parts of his face and its own, yammering all throughout. After the tiny human is finished, it makes to get up, finds it can’t, then starts making those wailing noises. Atlas brings a hand to it, and extends a pinky. It grabs on, and he lifts it slightly, bringing it to its feet. It warbles, then pats the pinky, then starts a trek back up the pond. He watches it closely for any more slips, but it reaches the top successfully, then waddles off into the trees.

 

          Atlas relaxes once the tiny human is out of view, and huffs out a cloud of tense steam. Feeling good about his dealing with the tiny human, he purrs in his chest. He hadn’t hurt the tiny human, not one bit! But he is wary of if the tiny human will come back, and if its herd will follow. Perhaps it would be better to move his nest farther away from the humans, after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- And that’s a wrap! This last scene with Atlas and the “tiny human” was inspired by a scene in the movie “Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron”; it’s the scene with the little girl in the Indian camp who says “bye, bye, horsie!” Agh, so cute!
> 
> \- By the way, constructive criticism is always welcome; I’m always trying to improve my writing. 
> 
> \- Maybe next chapter will be from another point of view??? I’m not sure.


	3. Two's a Coincidence, Three's a Conundrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! This time, we get another perspective on the events of the last two chapters. I'm not sure I love this chapter -- it feels a bit clunky to me, but I'm posting it anyway. 
> 
> Some notes before we begin: Armin's parents are called Errol and Agatha, and his grandfather is named Thaddeus. 
> 
> So, yeah, read up, and don't forget to tell me what you guys think!

 

 

 

          Errol Arlert was a smart man. He had noticed the despair rising within the walls. It was only a matter of time before the entire Scout Regiment was wiped out, and it was only a matter of time before people were crowded out of their homes and food. He also knew that someone had to find a solution of evading the Titans on forays out of the walls. First, he mentioned his concerns to the Military Police, but the officer he had spoken to had only snorted and said “What’re we going to do about the Titans, boy? Float over ‘em like birdies?”. Well, that gave him an idea. What if they _could_ float over the Titans?

 

          Errol then spoke to his wife, Agatha, and his father, Thaddeus, about his idea of creating a way over the Titans instead of through. His father had proposed the idea of a giant zipline with a car for transport. His wife had proposed the idea of a flying contraption with wings like a bird. None of them could agree on a reasonable way of setting it up without alerting the police about their activities; and so, the issue slipped out of thought.

 

          His idea never surfaced, until a few months later when Errol was walking in the market searching for children’s’ toys, having just learned of his future as a father. It was just a market stall, nothing special; until out of the corner of his eye, he saw a paper lantern rise up and ride the wind. It was lit by a small candle tied at the bottom with string, and the hot air filled the lantern with buoyant air.

 

          Racing home, he told his wife and father of his discovery. They immediately began setting up small models of a modified version of the lantern. Paper was immediately discarded as a building material, as was burlap. It was also discovered that the more weight underneath the balloon, the bigger the balloon had to be. They eventually settled on silk for the building material, which was easy enough to get at Errol’s job as a tailor. The basket which would hang underneath Agatha used her weaving skills to form the basket which would hang underneath; it was large enough to fit all of them and some of their possessions.

 

          During this phase, Errol and Agatha’s son, Armin, was born. There were complications during the birth, but both mother and son survived – just at the cost of any future siblings for their son. But Errol was happy to just have both of his loved ones alive and well. Armin was a calm and happy baby, and would often stare at the world with boundless curiosity. He was perfectly content to sit and listen to his grandfather’s stories while his parents wove and sewed. Everyone who met dear Armin would say that he had his family’s natural inquisitiveness for the world around them. And, for almost two years, they were happy.

 

          But it was not to last. Somehow, word that the Arlerts were building a way to escape the walls got to the Military Police. While the intent was never to escape, that became the new objective as soldiers investigated them several times. They knew that it was only a matter of time until their secret was discovered, and so, Errol managed to contact a close friend who worked at the Wall. The friend agreed to covertly open the gate for them, and over the course of a week, they smuggled out their hot-air balloon piece by piece as well as some of their possessions. On their last night within the walls, Military Police stormed their house. It was only because the same friend had warned them did they escape. They fled to their hot-air balloon and assembled it as quickly as humanly able, and flew far away from their only home and its safety.

 

          Now, Errol Arlert is a man of many talents. Unfortunately for him, his one shortcoming is perhaps a lack of foresight. So, when it came time to land their flying machine, it was soon discovered that steering was iffy. And the rest, well you already know.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Errol wiped a hand across his face, grimacing at the feel of grime and sweat. It was a hot and muggy day that seemed to make the air swim with moisture, and physical labor isn’t his forte anyway. He’s working to create a sort of rope-vine ladder so that his family can get down from the tree safely. It’s slow going, especially when Agatha had injured one of her hands in the crash. They have enough supplies to last for a while, so they don’t have to hunt for some time, which is something in their favor. Armin is starting to get antsy being cooped up in the basket for so long, especially just having learned how to run. And, of course they’re trapped in a dangling basket with no escape should they be attacked and negligible means of protecting themselves, but at least there have been few Titan sightings. There was only that first one with the 15-meter Aberrant who had run away, and a few scattered 3-meters and 7-meters.

 

          Errol shudders as he recalls the eerie appearance of the Aberrant – elfin ears, highly muscled, higher than average amount of skin, eyes blazing with mindless hunger, the lipless dual maw with teeth the size of tombstones. It was almost like it was pretending to be human on the outside – doubtless an inane effort to trap humans. It had come out of the line of trees like a popup book; one second only leaves and branches, the next, there. He remembers how he had been looking at the snagged fabric of the balloon when the sound of splintering wood had caught his attention. He remembers that his first thought was Dear God, Armin, and he remembers the way its otherworldly eyes were fixed upon the humans practically laid out on a buffet line for it. He remembers his wife’s scream of anguish and his son’s confused cries. His father had begun shouting as well, brandishing a bow at the creature as if it understood threat. He remembers that he had stood frozen on that branch, only able to stare and listen to his heart beat like the dull thumping of horse hooves on the ground. But – he inwardly chuckles – the Aberrant had not ended them that day, but had ran off in the other direction. Its behavior made him worry that an expedition had lured the creature away and that their lives were substituted for his and his family’s.

 

          Shaking himself from his grim thoughts, Errol directs himself at the work at hand. _It doesn’t do to dwell on what could have been when one’s future is at stake._

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Errol scratches his head thoughtfully. For weeks now, they had received “offerings” at the base of what Agatha had cheerfully dubbed their “Trust-Fall Tree”. The gifts mostly consist of things like water, the occasional pillow or book, and animals with their heads bashed to bloody smears. At first, he had been suspicious of who it was that was so generous in a forest outside the walls, but as his father and Agatha immediately put their new resources to use, he came around. Truth be told, he’s very grateful for this mysterious benefactor. His only misgiving is the manner in which the animals are killed.

 

          The blow to the back of the neck suggests intelligence, which means human, but the force needed to obliterate the head so completely as to leave mangled, shattered remnants behind is worrisome. If it was a knife, the cut would be clean; it’s not, so that suggests something else. It’s almost like it was crushed by a boulder, but hunting like that would be time-consuming and dangerous, not to mention the unlikelihood of outmaneuvering bears and herding deer to the right place. So that rules out the possibility of a single hunter. Perhaps it could be a village of hunters, but with high chances that one or more of their members would have died in those hunts, it’s unlikely that they would continue feeding strangers in a tree. If it was a cannon that the hunter led their prey too, then more of the animal would be destroyed given the inaccurate and slow nature of the barrel. But no, the head and neck is specifically targeted and systematically crushed. The only other possibility Errol can think of is a Titan, but that notion is laughable. What kind of Titan would keep humans alive rather than eat them? Could it be fattening them up? That makes a chill run down his spine. If, in fact, it is a Titan, then the amount of intelligence that would require is stunning and more than a little horrifying. He just hopes that his logic is flawed and that there is a kind hunter or village out there, because the alternative is much, much worse.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          It takes a second for Errol to register that he is no longer slipping through the air and is instead on something pleasantly warm, but when he does, the heat makes sense as does the sudden halting of movement. He is in the hand of a Titan, and he is about to die. His panicked and despairing mind wants to laugh when he recognizes the Titan as the one from their first day in the forest. _Came back to finish the job, have you?_ Its malevolent gaze is fixed upon him, and he feels his body shaking violently, his mouth glued shut by terror. Only when it blinks – _just like a lizard, slow and sweeping_ – does he find the strength to pry his jaw open and shout to his father to throw him something sharp. That prompts Agatha to scream, and in turn, Armin to wail. Then, the creature looks at them with this, dare he say, unnerved and alarmed expression. Why, it almost looks caught off-guard by their reaction. Then Errol is the one caught off-guard when it speedily tips him into the basket, throws a deer corpse at the ground ( _that_ mystery solved at least), and takes off as if it was the one with the near-death experience. Thankfully, he doesn’t land on anything breakable, but he thinks he breaks a few ribs when Agatha surges forward to embrace him. She shudders against him, so unlike her, and he realizes that he’s the one shaking; so he buries his face in her shoulder and begins to weep. Armin tugs at his pant leg after a few seconds, so he draws him into the hug as well. Thaddeus brings his arms around all of them, and they gently sink to the floor where they remain for the better part of an hour.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          It’s the kind of day in which one cannot help but spend swimming. And that’s exactly what they do. Agatha, Armin, and Thaddeus are all in the stream while Errol is content to watch his family play. It’s a slow-moving, shallow stream that’s perfect for novice swimmers like themselves. Armin can’t seem to get enough of this new aspect of the world, and waddles about terrorizing the marine life and collecting river rocks.

 

          Everything’s perfect.

 

          Until suddenly it’s not. There’s footsteps barreling towards them, and he turns to see a Titan running at them at full speed. For some reason, his brain catalogues its appearance; arms long enough to brush the ground, staggering gait, stiff movements, blond hair, skin missing on its legs and shoulders, mouth making almost half its body, eyes black and dull. He has enough time to shout a warning before he sees it reach towards Agatha. She’s trembling, frozen at the sudden sight of this monstrosity. He can only watch in horror as its hand moves in for the easy kill. Then, there is a hair-raising roar. If pressed to describe it, he would say it was a mixture of a man’s hoarse shout, and the timbre of a low plucked note on a string. The unearthly howl precedes a second Titan who charges straight towards at them. There is no time to do much of anything before it is upon them. He expects death to be swift and merciless. It almost seems like a delusion borne by a hallucinating mind when the second Titan careens wildly into the first and sends them both off course. A foot comes within arm’s distance of crushing Thaddeus.

 

          He just stands there, spellbound, as their savior breaks the other Titan’s head open like a nut with one violent and wet _crunch_. It then begins stomping on the decapitated body like how a nest of ants would be squashed. All that power, all that strength; if he didn’t know better, he’d say that Greek mythology was alive and walking in front of him in the true sense of the word “titan”. His ears are ringing, much like his head, and he can do nothing but gawp at the first witnessed case of a Titan killing another Titan. When it is done, the awful roar stops abruptly, and it turns to them for a moment, before turning tail and running away.

 

          Errol recognizes it. For a third time, the Aberrant had encountered them and let them live, the same Aberrant that brings them various gifts. It had just killed one of its own kin, perhaps in the defense of humans, perhaps of its territory. He doesn’t know what to think, or if indeed he is thinking, so he puts his face in his hands and laughs and laughs.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          It had been quite the unpleasant shock when they woke up in the grip of the very same Titan. Errol must admit that their reactions were a bit ludicrous; what good are arrows and chair legs against a Titan? Either way, the Titan had dropped them off next to an abandoned village and ran away again.

 

          Now, Errol Arlert has a problem.

 

          He generally believes in the happening of coincidences. For the Titan to leave them alone twice, he can still believe in its beastly nature. But for it to not only attack another of its ilk, but also bring its natural food source to a source of valuable resources, this contradicts basic Titan nature too much. Three times is Errol’s limit for disbelief. That Titan has shown that it has no interest in human beings, so he is willing to put some faith in its continued behavior.

 

          His problem surfaced when he discovered the Titan’s lair just a few minutes away. A few days ago on his way back to the village, it had started raining, and he had taken shelter underneath a few broad-leaved trees; and it was then that he saw it. Thankfully the Titan was too busy trying to open a book to notice its unsuspecting visitor. He had managed to sneak away without alerting it to his presence, even shocked as he was at a Titan with a _book_. Now though, he has to decide what to do. Does he try to drive the Titan off? Does he move his family? If so, how does he do so with the hot-air balloon ruined beyond repair? More importantly, what can he do? It’s a 15-meter Titan, for Maria’s sake! And the risk of being attacked while on the move without its possible protection is high.

 

          He has already decided to trust in its disinterest towards humans, but that could change quickly. Unfortunately, he can see no other viable option than to stay put and hope for the best. They have no weapons, no means of transportation. It’s enough to make him want to both laugh and cry.

 

          He is jolted out of his thoughts when Agatha runs towards him, and he absentmindedly drinks in her appearance. She almost never runs; she always walks in a calm and collected manner. Her brown hair is coming of her habitual tie, such a shame – she usually keeps it so tidy, except when reading or drawing. She is not conventionally beautiful, but that’s not what he married her for. He was drawn to her sharp curiosity and fierce heart, her unending determination and boundless care. If he died looking at her, then he would be happy.

 

          It is only when she says that Armin is missing does he come to the present.

 

          He has an inkling at where Armin might have gone, so he sends his wife in the opposite direction. As it turns out, his hunch was right. Armin, the foolish, curious, wonderful boy that he is, had somehow tracked down the Titan. He arrives just in time to see Armin topple over, but before he can rush over to take his boy away, the Titan moves. It rests its head in front of the crying toddler and practically croons. That stops Errol short. How would a Titan with no knowledge of human culture besides the way they taste, know how to soothe an upset child?

 

          For some reason, he lets things play out and doesn’t interfere. He watches as the Titan tries an eggbeater of all things, and then it wiggles – wiggles – its ears. He watches as Armin touches the Titan, and as it helps his son get to his feet. Feeling like he as just witnessed something approaching divine and not entirely sure why he didn’t try to get Armin away from the Titan, Errol departs as silently as he came and goes to collect his wayward son.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make Errol as logical as possible, but some of the reasoning in this chapter might be weird. I also tried to make him quite prejudiced in terms of the Titans, but he kinda realizes that Atlas is different by the end. Sorry if either of these things isn't clear ... 
> 
> Bonus points to whoever can figure out the identity of the mysterious "friend" of the Arlerts who helped them out!
> 
> And as always, thank you guys for supporting me!


	4. What Kills You Makes You Stronger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, time skip in this chapter. I know, I wish I could see more of baby Armin, too, but here, have an emotionally traumatized child, some family bonding, and a few kicks to the feels! This is also a slightly longer chapter at almost 4k words, so you guys can tell me if you like longer or shorter chapters. And as always, thanks for your continued support!

 

 

 

          It’s the first snowfall of the winter season, and the humans have been in his forest for a long time now, long enough for the tiny human to be less tiny and more like a small human. It also doesn’t cry nearly as often anymore, but it still visits Atlas sometimes. When it does, it’ll sit near Atlas with one of those pressed-leaf things and jabber to him for a few hours before leaving. Atlas always looks forward to those strange sessions; it almost feels like he isn’t a Titan. But there are no visits in winter, so Atlas knows he can wander in these few months.

 

          The forest is calm and silent. Among the white, he stands out like a lone tree in a field, but there is no reason why he should hide so it doesn’t bother him much. He and the humans have developed a kind of peace; when he walks by their village, they let him watch them go about their business – the small human will sometimes wave a hand at him (Atlas wonders what this means).

 

          He is just leaving for his travel when he smells it – blood, human blood. With the cold, few animals mark their territory, so it is easy for Atlas to track the scent to his humans’ village. As he gets closer, he can distinguish that it is two-blood scents – one from his small human, one he doesn’t know. This new blood doesn’t smell like any of his humans; it smells young and terrified and female. The smells come from a house on the outskirts of the village, where three unfamiliar male scents coat the surroundings. By now, Atlas is furious, how dare these humans hurt younglings? How dare they invade his forest and touch his human? Too enraged to utilize tact, he rips the roof off the house and leans in so that his face blots out the clear blue sky behind. He narrows his eyes into snake-like slits and a growl seethes out from between his teeth. His small human is on the floor bleeding, and the other youngling is immobile in the corner. One of the males stops hitting his small human and looks up; Atlas grins savagely at the expression of hysteria on its face. The other two males are leaning on a wall, and Atlas can hear their trembling. When one of them suddenly stinks of piss, his grin widens into a smirk of macabre Cheshire proportions. He unhinges his jaw and roars wildly.

 

          Fast as a frog’s tongue, he snatches up all three of the men in one large hand and stands to the extent of his impressive height, careful to not crush them before the time is right. Their blows are about as ineffective as snowflakes, and he raises his fist to his mouth just to hear their screams intensify. One, he plucks by the collar of its coat and raises as high as he can reach, then lets go. He can hear each individual bone shatter, and the wet splatter it makes against the frozen ground is like the sweetest music. One, he doesn’t bother moving from his fist, and grips it head between a thumb and forefinger. He increases the pressure minutely, and the male screams. Before ten seconds, its head explodes in a shower of red; the male still trapped right next to its dead fellow is pale and shaking. The last one, the one that was hurting his small human, that one he sets on the ground. It looks up at him, incredulous, then takes off as fast as its little legs can carry it. Atlas lets him run for a few seconds, then brings his foot to hover over the running human. It has time to glance up, and Atlas relishes the dawning horror that was its last expression before he grinds his foot into the ground with contempt, looking as casual as a human stepping on a bug. He takes a moment to admire the way the red blood mixes with the snow, then kneels down next to the house where his saved humans are.

 

          His small human has managed to sit up and is staring at Atlas, while the other female is now shaking. His forehead wrinkles. Is it cold? He immediately sweeps his eyes around for some type of covering, but there is none in the house. One of the dead humans outside has a red cloth that isn’t too bloodstained, so he pinches it between two nails, and loops it around the youngling’s head. The shaking dwindles down, so he croons and taps its head with a finger, then does the same to his small human. He then gets to his feet and lopes off to find the rest of his humans. It takes a lot of grunting and pantomiming, but eventually they follow him to the house, where there is a lot of chirping between the humans. Satisfied that they will be fine, he snorts a jet of humid steam and retreats from the human village.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Mikasa is so very cold. It’s the kind of cold that invades your bones and constricts all movement. It’s not the physical kind of cold, no, but the lack of warmth that stems from a heart no longer beating. The cold stops her eyes from seeing anything but the way her father’s blood had painted the window and the way her mother’s eyes had turned dull and empty right in front of her.

 

          She is in a wagon, rickety and bumpy, the wood rough beneath her thin clothes. The men are talking behind her, talking about what they’ll do with the money from her auction, talking about what they might do to her before then. She doesn’t care. She closes her eyes.

 

          She is now in a house. There is a knock on the door. A boy speaks through the gap. He lives nearby and was wondering how they got here in the middle of winter. Then, the boy tries to run or fight, she’s not sure which, and next he is on the floor being beaten. Apparently, her kidnappers take no risks when in the pursuit of their money. She blinks.

 

          A rhythmic pounding catches her attention. It booms up from the floorboards and rattles her teeth slightly. Her focus fades. Then, there is the shriek of abused wood and the splinter of roof beams. The ceiling is gone, and a Titan fills her view. She is cold.

 

          She can vaguely hear the screams of dying men. She doesn’t care.

 

          Then, there is a sensation of warmth around her neck and on her head. She blinks, and pulls the scarf down to clear her face. It is somewhat bloody, but she recognizes it from her mother’s killer. It is warm. She looks up to see the Titan. It is a strange one; it gave her a scarf and killed her parents’ murderers. It looks like it smiles at her, and gently taps her head with the tip of one massive finger while rumbling comfortingly. She didn’t know Titans could be so gentle. She is warm.

 

          The boy on the floor is crying silently. From her angle, it almost looks like he is chuckling. He looks like a blond mop with a bowl cut. But even he refused to give his family’s location; even he fought in his own way. He had called for her to fight, but she didn’t. Her own mother had tried to buy time for her to run, yet Mikasa hadn’t moved a muscle. Why was she so weak? Why was she so willing to dishonor her mother’s sacrifice?

 

          A voice whispers in her head, _fight_.

 

          She is cold again.

 

          The voice sounds like a young boy. _Fight_.

 

          She closes her eyes. The voice gets louder.

 

          It almost sounds like her mother. _Fight!_

 

          She doesn’t so much as twitch a finger.

 

          Now, it is not so much a voice but a bellow, urging her primal instincts to awaken.

 

          She is cold, but she doesn’t care. She fingers her new scarf, and feels warmer than ever. That Titan was strong; it fought for her. She, too, would be strong and fight for others. She would be like her mother, and that blond boy. Mikasa is done being passive. She is warm.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Agatha almost screams when the 15-meter Aberrant appears from the line of trees, but she stifles it because that’s just not dignified. For such a large and conspicuous creature, it moves surprisingly quietly. Beside her, Errol hisses out a curse. Her father-in-law has no such inhibitions and swears long and loud. Even after the years spent ignoring the creature, she has never become accustomed to its silent arrivals and departures. This time, however, is different. It almost seems agitated. Steam whisping out of its jaws in small bursts, it trills sharply, and lets out a low, distressed whine. She glances at Errol, who seems as mystified as her. The Titan tilts its head its head in the direction of the village and looks back at them intently. It then takes a few steps away, and then comes back. It’s acting almost like a puppy tugging at the hem of its owner’s pants in a bid for help. She’s never seen it act so piteously; the only time it seemed this soft was when Armin went up to it and spoke.

 

          Her heart freezes. The only possibility that would make the Titan behave like this is Armin. And for it to want them to follow, she reasons there must be something afoot.

 

          “I think it’s trying to tell us there’s something wrong with Armin. We need to get back to the village, now. ” She firmly tells her husband and father-in-law. Her husband nods, forehead wrinkled with concern.

 

          They start running, and it’s only a matter of minutes before they are at the village. But instead of leading them to their house, the Titan heads off in the direction of one of the outer houses that’s missing its roof. Puzzled, she tells Thaddeus to check their house, and that she and Errol will follow the Titan. When it sees them following, it blinks in affirmation and steps quietly back into the cover of the trees. When she rounds the house, what she sees is horrific. There are three corpses made unidentifiable in the manner of their deaths. She feels her stomach rebel, but quashes the urge to vomit. Her husband fails to quell his reflex, and hunches over with repeated mutterings of “oh, god”. Reminded of the situation at hand, she worries what she will find behind the door, yet opens it anyway.

 

          Armin is there, beaten and bloody, while a girl sits quietly in the corner near to her son. Agatha runs to her son, and checks him over hurriedly.

 

          “It’s fine. I’m okay, mother.” Her sweet boy reassures her.

 

          When her husband’s hand reaches into her line of vision, she smacks it away. Rubbing his stinging hand, Errol clears his throat and instead asks gruffly “What happened to you, son?”

 

          Armin reports his experience promptly, matter-of-fact, and Agatha could weep. “Those three men kidnapped that girl over there. I saw them come into the village and set up in this house, but I didn’t see her. I came over thinking that they were refugees from the Walls. But they weren’t. They were beating me because I wouldn’t tell them how many people lived here or where my family was. And then the Titan came. He ripped off the roof and grabbed the men. I suspect it killed them.” His eyes grew larger and more animated. “He saved us, mother! He’s a Titan and he was smart enough to only kill the three men and to get you! He’s _amazing_!”

 

          Agatha is speechless. In the place of any words she might scrounge up, the girl in the corner makes her presence known. “He gave me this scarf.” The girl’s voice is empty, the words spoken as if from the depths of a well. The girl sounds almost happy with her gift.

 

          Agatha takes the time to look over the girl. The aforementioned scarf is bloody and wet with snow. It can’t be pleasant to touch, yet the girl is clinging to it with an iron grip. She is bleeding from her head, but more importantly, her eyes are cold and lifeless. “Where are your parents?”

 

          The girl’s face doesn’t change. “Dead.”

 

          As expected. Agatha can’t help but feel sorry for this girl with the eyes of a widow and the countenance of a soldier. “Come with us,” she says impulsively, surprising herself with her forwardness.

 

          The girl’s eyes flicker from the roof, to Armin, to Errol, to Agatha, but makes to move to either accept or decline.

 

          Agatha takes the girl’s hand in her own; it is so very cold, but the girl’s eyes shine with the promise of an inferno. “My name is Agatha. This is my son, Armin, and my husband, Errol. We will take care of you.”

 

          The girl blinks and applies the barest pressure to Agatha’s hand. “I’m Mikasa. Yes.”

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          When they start the short walk to their house, Armin is clinging to Errol, and Mikasa hasn’t let go of Agatha’s hand. The girl is quiet, almost unnaturally so. Her footsteps make as much noise crunching in the snow as a rabbit does, and her eyes shine out from behind her dark bangs, eerie in their intensity. Struck by a sense of unease, Agatha realizes that this girl reminds her somewhat of the Titan, but she shakes her apprehension away. This girl is in need of comfort, and in need of peace.

 

          When they reach their house, Thaddeus is out in front. Errol sets Armin down and goes to explain the situation to his father. Armin latches onto her waist, and she shuffles the two children into the warm house. Setting Mikasa in front of the fire, she sets Armin on the couch and gets blankets for them both, not caring about the bloodstains. She’s always been a believer in the power of a good hot drink, so she goes to the kitchen and bustles about making tea; she even adds a little of their precious store of honey. As always, Armin drinks too soon and burns his tongue, but Mikasa approaches tea with a sense of familiarity and ease. Agatha gets rags and a bowl of water, and makes poultices while the two children relax. During this time, Thaddeus and Errol return; Errol goes upstairs while Thaddeus goes out to get more wood.

 

          She kneels down next to Armin first, and gently cleans off all the blood. His injuries are mostly just bruises, but a particularly nasty cut on his forehead will require stitches. Satisfied, she moves onto Mikasa, who thankfully shows no sign of concussion. It is a simple matter to bandage her head. For now, the two children seem to be doing alright. She can clean their clothes later. Taking the dirty water to the sink, she almost doesn’t hear Armin shift in his seat and speak to Mikasa.

 

          “So, I guess we’re family now, right?” Agatha could hear the happy smile in his voice.

 

          “I guess.” The girl’s voice is flat, but she can detect a note of curiosity peeking through.

 

          “That’s great! I’ve always wanted a sister, and now I have one.”

 

          That last statement causes Agatha’s breath to stutter, and she grips the edge of the sink to anchor herself. Armin’s birth had been long, bloody, and painful. He had almost strangled in the womb, and the doctor had to cut him out to save him. Unfortunately, her “doctor” was a two-bit son of a quack with only a passing claim to medical school, but they couldn’t afford anyone better. The doctor had been too hasty and sloppy in his cuts, and in less time than it takes to scream, any chance she had of conceiving another child was gone. She had always wanted a houseful of children, enough to drive her insane with both irritation and love. But she just had Armin to dote after, and that was fine, really, she was fine with that. But she couldn’t help that sometimes during the night, listening to the silence of her barely occupied home, she would cover her stomach with her hands and wish for life to grow there. Maria, it hurts to hear Armin talk about his wish for siblings and to know that she couldn’t give him one.

 

          But she is strong, stronger than her empty womb. So she tips the reddish water into the drain, watches it swirl faster and faster until it disappears with a _splork_ , methodically wipes her hands with a dishtowel, then turns to go make sure her children are well taken care of – because if there’s one thing she hates, it’s children with no one to care for them.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          The girl has been in their household for a month now. She is still unusually silent. She is by no means a trouble-maker, though. She rarely responds to anyone, and what little communication longer than one syllable there is, is directed towards Armin. Errol, the hopeless man that he is, is terrible with their new addition to the household. He just can’t connect with the young girl that is now his daughter. He tried bringing her sweet winterberries, he tried giving her books; his only success was building a music box that she had briefly smiled at. He just doesn’t know what to do.

 

          Unable to sleep, he is reading a truly fascinating book on the nature of thermodynamics and its applications to powering machines, when he hears a small thumping noise from upstairs. At this time of night, no one is resisting the call of their warm beds, so he is concerned when he pinpoints the origin to Mikasa’s rooms. Noting his place in the book, he creeps up the stairs and stalls in front of the girl’s room. The door is open, like always, and he can see that she is staring up at the ceiling. Her face is a mixture of blankness and a horrible nothingness. Feeling more than a little awkward, he debates whether to go in or not. Usually not one to dither, he raps his knuckles on the doorframe.

 

          That simple action provokes an unexpected reaction.

 

          She flings herself out of bed, curls up into a tiny ball in the corner, and shrieks wildly into her knees. Errol, while he may not know how to handle trauma, does know how to comfort a crying child. He moves slowly towards her, freezing when her mixed wails gain volume, and eventually reaches an arm’s length away. Sliding his back down the wall, he sits with his knees drawn up to his chest. She’s trembling now, but at least her screams have died down. Humming the tune from the music box, he gently strokes her hair. He doesn’t say anything; there’s no need to. For as long as she needs, he sits beside her and between the two of them, they manage to ward off the darkness from their little corner.

 

          As it turns out, Errol never needs to question his new daughter’s affection again.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Agatha is toiling in the herb-and-vegetable garden having finally cornered Mikasa into helping her. The girl does as she is asked and pulls out weeds with a single-minded determination that, if she were a weed, would make Agatha tremble in fear. The girl puts so much effort into every task no matter the size. Sometimes, Agatha will feel exhausted just looking at her adopted daughter, but she never seems to flag or falter. On one hand, she is incredibly proud, but on the other, she worries that Mikasa is trading her happiness for grit.

 

          She is drawn from her thoughts when she sees movement along the edge of the forest. She rests her dirty gloves beside her, and sits up for a better look. Nothing happens. She’s just about to return to her work, thinking it was an animal, when she sees it again. It’s not an animal; it’s a foot. Automatically glancing upward, she is reassured when she sees the familiar gleam of green eyes. It had been months since the Aberrant had shown its face, which is no surprise. It usually disappears during the frost, whether to hibernate or migrate, she doesn’t know. It steps carefully out from its cover, and glances around. When it sees them, its ears perk up and it gently picks its way to them and sits cross-legged perhaps five meters from them, which is surprisingly fine with Agatha. Mikasa is still pulling up weeds with single-minded focus, and Agatha has to chuckle at her sheer dismissal of anything but her quest to exterminate the enemy foes.

 

          Indeed, the girl doesn’t notice until the Titan breaths a cloud of white steam directly towards them. The stench is terrible enough to make Agatha’s eyes water, but either the smell or the loss of vision is enough to notify the girl of their guest. She watches as her adopted daughter halts, looks up slowly, then blinks like a newborn fawn. The girl’s thin face fills with something akin to resolve. Agatha watches her shoot to her feet, and allows her to do whatever she needs to do.

 

          Mikasa marches up to the comically larger Titan, plants her feet, then with ceremonial pomp, uncurls the ever-present scarf from around her neck, and wraps it around the Titan’s thumb. Its expression is so bemused and perplexed that Agatha is hard-pressed not to laugh. It glances from the scarf, to the girl at its feet, then back at the scarf. With careful nails, it snags the tip of the scarf, unwraps it from its thumb, then throws it loosely around the girl’s head in an untidy heap. Mikasa’s usual stoicism cracks, leaving in its place a frightening vulnerability. Then, the Titan taps her head with one cautious finger. When Mikasa returns to the garden and sits beside Agatha once more, Agatha pretends she can’t see the silent tears dropping to water the earth. Instead, she reaches over and holds the girls hand. It is only a minute before the girl’s head thumps against her shoulder and her tears are no longer silent. Agatha strokes her hair, and lets her grieve, the Titan a looming guardian above them both.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys tell that I love Agatha as a character? I can! Expect more from her in future chapters. Atlas reveals that maybe his Titan nature isn’t as removed as we all thought … but Atlas & Mikasa being all angsty and cute gives me life! 
> 
> I’m struggling a bit with the next chapter, so it might be a while until the next update. I also don’t know the logistics of what I want to happen soon. I want the Arlerts back in Shiganshina before Wall Maria is breached (or maybe during?), but I don’t know how to make that happen. I also don’t know if I want Atlas to run into a Scout Regiment expedition (maybe with Hange and Levi,) or if I want the expedition to bring the Arlerts back that way. If you guys have any ideas, feel free to tell me.


	5. Baby Steps, or, It All Comes Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not gonna lie; this chapter was really fun to write! I hope you guys like it! *wink* 
> 
> Warning: in this story, Hange is female, as she is in the anime. This means no disrespect for the LGBTQ+ community. Also, warning for profanity in the second half.

 

 

 

          Agatha is no shrinking violet. She always speaks her mind no matter the time or place, and the few times she has been terrified, were in defense of her family when danger was assured. So when she still finds herself wilting in the presence of the Aberrant, she can’t put her finger on the origin of her unease. The Aberrant has made no move against her family; indeed, it seems to bask in the presence of her children. And so, during one sunny summer day, she sets this belief surely in her mind and marches over to where the Titan is seemingly sunbathing in the space between the forest and the houses. Its appearance is truly frightful, but also surprisingly aware; and, she reasons, its appearance is as different from other Titans’ as much as its behavior is.

 

          It notices her approach, and she can see an ear tip twitch lazily in the way a cat regally notes one’s presence; it half-raises itself onto its elbow. She can see a mixture of joy and apprehension crawl across its face, surprisingly humanlike in their depth. She gives nothing of her motives away, and instead stops barely two meters away from one of its massive hands. Its ears are perked curiously, wanting to know what she was doing and why she was here. She gives an answer by pulling an object from her skirts – an eggbeater – and setting it on the ground between them. Errol had told her of its bizarre fascination with them, so she figured it might make a good peace offering.

 

          The Titan coos delightedly, pupils expanding greatly, and snatches it slowly. It makes a litany of sounds, almost like an infant testing the waters of speech, and Agatha is reminded of how Armin always reads to the creature. She tucks that issue away to later ask her son, sits down against a tree, then pulls out her knitting needles and thread to start on a new project. It is surprisingly soothing to rest in the presence of a Titan. Her needles fill the air with rhythmic clinking, and the Titan will occasionally sigh out steam, or chirrup, or scratch an itch.

 

          She only stays for half an hour, but, she reasons, baby steps. The Titan looks strangely melancholy when she departs to start dinner, but against her mature conditioning, she gives it a little wave before she enters the door, and it looks almost relieved by the time the door closes.

 

          When she calmly informs Errol of her little adventure as she serves him a spoonful of mashed potatoes, she is not surprised when he almost has a meltdown over her safety. Her response: to remind him of their children’s visits to the very same Titan, and that she was in as much danger as he lets their children be in. Armin giggles at that, and while Mikasa is still stoic, there is a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. After dinner, Agatha gives her two children honeyed milk – extra honey for Mikasa. Agatha doesn’t know whether she’s apologizing, or if it’s a symbol of collaboration. But either way, she joined them eventually.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          One day, she joins her children when they visit the Titan’s nesting place. Mikasa begins her daily sparring which she had begged Thaddeus to teach her as he had been a member of the Garrison – she was quickly outpacing him despite her age. Armin sits on a log and cracks open a book and, begins to read aloud. Having never been there before, she takes the time to look around. There are an extraordinary amount of pillows and mattresses strewn about the bottom of the pond. Something glitters in the hollow of a willow tree, and she wanders closer, noting the Titan’s nervous attention. In the hollow, she finds two eggbeaters, an ancient looking sword, quite a few arrows with no bow, and even three books. The books surprise her – why would a Titan be interested in reading? Of course, it could be instinctively hoarding these things with its fascination with humans. But she is reminded of the noises it made like a baby, and how Armin had been reading to it for years. Perhaps it is more intelligent that she had assumed. Unsettled but also alight with scientific curiosity, she returns to Armin’s log and silently meditates on the problem while she knits.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Atlas is happy in the presence of three of his humans. The small human is holding a pressed-leaf thing in its hands and is jabbering to the air. The little human is off to the side pretending to battle leaves. The female human had been nosing around his treasures earlier, and he had been nervous. _What if it broke one of them? What if he wasn’t allowed to keep them?_ But the female human had tired of its search and sat next to the small human and gotten out two shiny sticks. He is on his side leaning into the hill so that his head is near his humans and he can watch them closely. Atlas still wonders why that little human had tried to give back the red cloth. He had already given it to the human; why would he want it back? And what would he do with it, being a Titan with no measure of hot or cold? He really loves humans, but sometimes, he really thinks its amazing how they managed to live this long without dying from stupidity.

 

          The female human suddenly gets up, and the small human’s sounds die out. The female approaches him, and he lifts his head curiously. It points at itself, makes a noise, then makes a questioning noise. He is confused. It points at itself, makes the same noise as before, then points at the small human and makes a different noise, then looks at him expectantly. He wonders what it wants from him; it’s almost like it’s trying to communicate with him. Wait, maybe that is what’s happening. She makes the noise again, and he listens closely, trying to make sense of the quicksilver syllables and lilting letters. Ugh-huh? Ack-huh-tho? Does she want him to try to speak Human? Well, here goes.

 

          “AAAAAAAAAG.”

 

          The pressed-leaf drops from the small human’s hands, and the little human stops its battle against the wind. The female human looks very pleased, so he tries again.

 

          “AAAAAGGGGHH-HUUUUH.”

 

          The female points to itself, repeats Ack-huh-tho, then points at the little human and makes another noise.

 

          “EEEEEE-KKKK-SS.” This is almost like a game, and one he very much wants to win.

 

          “EEEEEE-KKK-HHHAA-SSSSSSUHH.”

 

          The little human sits down abruptly. The small human looks unbearable excited, and the female repeats its noise.

 

          “RRRRRRIIIIINNN.”

 

          His throat is uncomfortably strained, but his humans look happy. He isn’t quite sure what the Human words meant, though. But as he listens to their chatter as they come together in a clump with a new ear, he hears the same sounds repeated, and when one of the humans says one of the new words, the others look at the one the female human had pointed at in conjunction with each sound. Then, it clicks. The noises are who they are! Feeling very proud of himself, the ache in his head and throat is worth being one step closer to his humans.

 

          The humans break apart, and the female goes through the same motions. Pointing to each human in turn and making that human’s sound. Then, unexpectedly, it points at him and stays silent. Maybe it wants his noise?

 

          “UUUUHHHTT-LLLLSSSSSS”

 

          He’s pretty sure he can hear his vocal chords creaking like old wood, but he perseveres.

 

          “AAAAAAHHHHHTT-LLLLLAAAAHHHSSSSS.”

 

          He did it!

 

          The female human repeats his noise, and he wiggles his ears in delight. The small and little humans run towards his hand and start clinging to his fingers. He’s seen the humans do this type of interactions with other humans, but never to him. He wonders if this is like the hand-waving thing that they do.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          In the time since her breakthrough, Agatha steadily managed to increase the Titan’s vocabulary. It now knew all their names, some numbers, every word she could think of to describe the forest, all the verbs she could think of, and of course, the interrogatives. Its pronunciation had also cleared up significantly, although some consonants like “m” and “b” were still impossible for it to pronounce, which is to be expected with its lack of lips.

 

          She hadn’t really thought anything would come of her impromptu introduction. She hadn’t been sure if the Titan’s intellect would allow for understanding of another language and its foreign concepts, or even if its vocal chords would allow speech. But to her amazement, the Titan had understood the concept of naming, had repeated their names and even given a name of its own. Atlas was what the Titan called itself, and she had to admit it fit quite nicely.

 

          When she, Armin, and Mikasa had returned from that first language lesson, they had immediately told Errol and Thaddeus of their discovery. Thaddeus had started laughing, but Errol had just looked quite unsurprised, as if he had suspected it all along. Of course, they were all very excited over being the first humans to communicate with a Titan, and for a Titan to communicate back. Errol had immediately agreed to come to their next meeting, won over by his scientific nature. Thaddeus had agreed since he had nothing better to do besides housework.

 

          Of course, the Titan – _Atlas, she had to remember that now_ – had been very receptive to the entire family coming to visit. Of course, it had looked more and more confused as Errol tried to teach it the finer details of cell structures and the existence of atoms. Her husband – so smart, yet so simple. And Thaddeus had tried to teach _Atlas_ how to read and write, which hadn’t gone over too well – it hadn’t even registered they were trying to teach it something. Armin was a lot better at recognizing the need to start simple then work up to the more difficult challenges (she was so proud that he was taking after her more than her husband, but don’t tell him that). And Mikasa taught it some of her combat training. Atlas hadn’t even realized what it was for until he had killed another Titan with one blow, stared at his fist in amazement, then at Mikasa with newfound respect.

 

          Yes, over the past few months, they’ve fallen into a routine. They’ll eat breakfast in the morning, do their daily chores and duties necessary for continued living, then will spend the rest of the day teaching their Titan new words. But sometimes – like when Atlas first heard the word “eat” and repeated it with such a look of disgust that she couldn’t help but laugh over the irony – she’ll wonder why this Titan in particular is able to learn, and what is meant by its ability to do so.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          It was their first time out of the walls and had already been a week on horseback, and if Levi had to see the horse in front of him take a dump – _and then see his horse fucking walk on it_ – one more time, he was going to shove Shitty Glasses’ goggles into the next pile of horse-crap he saw. And it didn’t help how she sniggered at his expression each and every damn time it happened. He was well and truly pissed and – “By Wall Sina, Hange, if I see your fingers going to poke me again, I will take those goggles and shove them up the horse’s ass instead!”

 

          “You called me by my name! Admit it; you like me!!!” she croons, opting instead to wave her smelly fingers in his face instead.

 

          He scowls at her, decidedly murderous. “Tch. If I like you, then why do I have a sudden urge to slice off your hand?”

 

          She laughs rambunctiously, urging her horse, Shelley, forward a few steps in her glee; as always, Levi finds her crazed good humor disturbing. “You’re just bored, Levi. I’m sure we’ll see an Aberrant I can study soon enough.”

 

          “Don’t jinx us, Shitty Glasses.”

 

          She rolls her eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t roll down her throat. “I’m sure the universe doesn’t care if I –”

 

          “Titans! Dead ahead! Two sevens and a thirteen!” One of the other squad members shouted, a sandy-haired boy with a penchant for slovenly living; Levi had never bothered to remember his name, nor most of the others in their squad.

 

          When Levi sent Hange a withering glare; at least she has the decency to look somewhat abashed.

 

          Their squad leader rides up beside them, a surly man whose skills were admittedly formidable. “Zoe, go with Sturgess and Bowin for the sevens. Ackerman, with me for the thirteen.”

 

          The thirteen-meter goes down relatively easy; the squad leader slices its knees, and Levi zeroes in on its nape. It’s when he flicks the disgusting blood of his blade does he bother to locate Hange. She’s wildly slinging herself around one of the sevens, hacking limbs off and laughing maniacally; the rest of the troop naturally forms a clump – too scared of her to come any closer before she’s finished. He rolls his eyes at his squad-mates behavior – _children, the lot of them_ – and starts walking back to his horse. Ajax is calmly off to the side nibbling on a clump of grass, as nonchalant as its rider.

 

          Finally, Hange tires of the regular Titan, and slices its nape efficiently, choking back a few sniffles as the thing writhes and turns to ashy steam. She lands next to Levi and sheathes her swords reluctantly. “I wish we had the resources to capture one of them; it would be positively _fascinating_ to experiment on them within closed condi –”

 

          Instead of the usual situation of Levi getting bored and cutting her off, it is their comrades screams that do the interjecting for him. They turn just in time to see a twelve-meter Aberrant swing down a fist and crush one of their party to a bloody smear. For Levi, time freezes as he looks at the crop of sandy hair, the only recognizable part of the body.

 

 _W-what? How could this happen? It was so fast … Damnit! What was that boy’s damn name? Come on you sack of shit, remember him! If nothing else, remember his name_!

 

          He sees Hange shake him and yell something in his ear, but when he doesn’t move, she zips off. All he can see is blood mingling with blond, horridly fascinated with the way each strand of hair wetted with viscous red. There’s a scream; another squad-mate dies, and Levi flinches. His squad leader is in front of him, and then his face stings harshly from a slap. The man is furious and shouts something that Levi can’t hear, then shoots away. He is still frozen, but when Hange cries out in pain, batted away from the Titan with the back of its huge hand, it is then that he moves, a spinning wheel of light and fury that only stops once the Titan shitstain is a steaming pile of mushy flesh.

 

          There is no time to stop; a group of six Titans appears to the west. He is a blur of motion and steel. He rolls along the arm of a nine-meter, slashes off the ankle of a twelve-meter, then slices the nape of a three-meter. In no time, the Titans are decimated.

 

          He lands, then sees a previously unnoticed 15-meter Aberrant staring at the corpse of the sandy-haired boy. It makes no move to eat the body, but Levi doesn’t have time to think about that; his figure blurs, then the Aberrant buckles to the ground with a low whine. It makes eye contact with him before it dies, and Levi almost pauses at the sight of green eyes that seem almost scared of its fate.

 

          Janlin. That was the boy’s name. Rook Janlin.

 

          Levi sniffs casually and goes to the body and rips off the Scout Regiment patch, putting the bloody piece of fabric in his pocket regardless of the mess. After that, he walks over to Hange and probes her ankle.

 

          “Damn it, Shitty Glasses. I told you not to jinx us. Tch. Now look at what you’ve done to yourself.”

 

 

______________________________

 

 

_Noises. Blood. Screams. … Humans._

 

_Curious. Protect humans?_

 

_Titans swarm. Roars. Dead._

 

_Quiet. Wary._

 

_Humans fight. Humans fly. Humans kill._

 

_Watching. Dead human. Protect?_

 

_Short human kill more. Notice watching._

 

_Fast, **fast**. Pain. Steam. Ground. Grey eyes. _

 

          He is small and weak, tearing himself from flesh. His body is wrong, the trees are wrong; they are tall (too tall). He can’t see very well, his nose is cloyed, his ears are useless. What is wrong with him? Where is his father? Where is … his humans are there with him. _Wait, isn’t he human, too?_ What happened to him? Why do the trees look wrong? For the first time in years, the trees look right. _Years? Isn’t he eleven?_ No, no he’s not. _Why not?_ Oh, yeah; he’s a Titan now. _But he’s not a Titan now, is he?_ At least his humans found him before this weak body failed him too early.

 

_Darkness._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psych! Didn’t think I’d kill Atlas off like that, did you?? Well, the Scout Regiment is introduced at last, and the Arlerts are in store for some revelations. I almost cut this chapter off before the last section, but I figured that would be too mean. Instead, you get a cliffhanger! I was laughing so hard when I thought up this chapter; it’s like, fluuuuuffff – whhhAAAAATTT??? Also, the update speed might have to slow down for a while; midterms are approaching, and schoolwork is piling up, but never fear, I will not drop this story!
> 
> In case anyone was curious, here’s the links for Hange’s horse and Levi’s.  
> Shelley -- https://i.pinimg.com/736x/92/98/5b/92985b0eebf0864a45d0b157aa42dc5d--beautiful-things-most-beautiful-horses.jpg  
> Ajax -- https://i.pinimg.com/736x/4e/64/92/4e6492aade846028f21abf6a6712ab5a--black-beauty-sheer-beauty.jpg


	6. We're All Mad Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure I like this chapter too much; it feels kinda clunky, but I thought you guys deserved a conclusion to last chapter fairly quickly. Also, updates will probably be slowing down because of schoolwork, and also because I don’t really have much planned from here on out.

 

 

 

          Errol is hunting when he hears the shouts ring out in the forest not too far off. The whirrs of ODM gear tell him it’s a Scouting expedition. The screams tell him that it went awry. He knows he shouldn’t even consider going, that it could endanger his family should they be found, but if he could lead the Aberrant – Atlas – there, it could possibly help and escape before the swords turn to its neck. So he whistles, sharp and undulating, a signal they worked out, and the Titan comes tripping over its own feet in haste, roaring and eyes looking for any threats. He waves to get its attention, then points in the direction of the Scouts.

 

          “Humans need help. Can you help?” He makes sure to enunciate and speak slowly.

 

          Atlas nods and steam hisses out of its nose. It speeds away, and Errol follows. Before it can get to the Scouts, more Titans appear from nowhere and begin trying to feast on Atlas’ flesh. There’s five of them, ranging from two-meters to fifteen-meters, probably drawn here because of the expedition. He’s never seen Atlas fight off this many before, but before he can fear for his life, they’re all dead and steaming gently. Atlas then turns to the Scouts, who seem to have everything under control by now. Errol can see the Titan freeze, eyes locked onto something – a dead Scout. Dread pools in the pit of his stomach because he knows the effect it will have on Atlas.

 

          “Oh, no, you great big sentimental idiot. Get out of there before they see you.” He says softly.

 

          Too late.

 

          Before he can move forward to do something, anything to show the Scouts that Atlas is friendly, a soldier flashes forward and buries their sword into Atlas’ nape. Horrified, he watches as Atlas keels to the side and begins to disintegrate. Numb, he watches the corpse of his family’s guardian, protector, _friend_. The Scouts had killed Atlas just like any other Titan, and Atlas was dead just like any other Titan would be. But Atlas wasn’t a normal Titan – he was good, and kind, and curious, _and he was dead_ – and the Scouts hadn’t even known. Errol isn’t sure if he’s more scared for what this will mean for his family, or more sorrowful for the Titan’s death. An odd mix of emotion seizes his chest and throat, and he begins to withdraw from the scene to warn his family. As he turns away, out of the corner of his eye, he sees motion within the cloud of steam. Almost as an afterthought or perhaps as a nod of respect towards the fallen giant, he looks closer.

 

          More movement.

 

          Errol curses his aging eyes and pulls out a pair of spectacles carefully as to hide the glinting from the still-present Scouts – _murderers_. The glasses fall from his suddenly slack hands when he sees what was making the steam ripple. It’s a person – a young boy – tearing himself from the encasing flesh around him with blind haste. Even from this distance, he can make out the boy’s shaggy dark hair and a glint of frantic green eyes. _What would a human be doing in the neck of a Titan?_

 

          The truth is both terrible and exultant; the truth leeches all feeling from his limbs and coils thickly in his stomach.

(Atlas is a Titan)

The thought reverberates around his skull and trembles out his skin.

(Atlas is a human)

His thoughts scatter like leaves blown in the gusts of a Titan’s breath.

 

He had been so puzzled over Atlas’ lack of murderous intent and surprising intellect. The irony is so strong that he can taste it in the air the same way humidity is sensed.

 

His family will be ecstatic to learn of this, as if the foundations of their reality haven’t been shaken to the ground like his has.

 

Atlas is too important to be kept from humanity, but humanity must be kept from Atlas. He would be shunned, manipulated, tortured, killed. Errol can’t bear to think of the alternative – the hope Atlas could represent.

 

          As if from a waking dream, he snaps back into himself, but it’s already too late. The Scouts have found Atlas a few scant meters from the smoldering remains of his Titan, and a moment later, they are gone. Errol curses and slams his fist into a tree. He had been distracted for a mere minute, and if the Scouts found the truth, then he had practically handed humanity a plaything, an experiment, a weapon. Because of his hesitation, Atlas was almost assuredly doomed.

 

          Feeling guilt sinking into his spine, he trudges back to his family and dreads their reaction. When he reaches home, it’s painful to see his children acting so carefree and his wife so quietly joyful. His confession rips out of his chest, and the mood in the warm house turns sour and cold. Agatha slaps him across his cheek – a bright line of sensation previously absent – and looks up at him shining with coal-like anger.

 

          He presses a hand to his cheek and continues his speech. “I know that I’ve stripped away all protections this family had, but –”

 

          Another slap to his other cheek interrupts him. Agatha again.

 

          She is furious, mouth pursed tightly, skin drawn and pale, words hissing out of her mouth. “Do you think I’m angry about that, you self-concerned, unsympathetic moron? I’m angry that you let Atlas be taken by the military – people who won’t understand him, who will be afraid of him for the crime of his simple existence! I’m angry that you just stood there and watched them take him away! I’m angry that you can stand here and prattle about the family’s safety when one of our members is lost and in danger without even trying to strategize for their retrieval!” Her breaths stutter harshly in pure wrath.

 

          Errol has no words for her; all her accusations are true. He collapses into a chair, unable to look in the eyes of his children, his wife, his father.

 

          Agatha draws a palm over her messy hair and sits down lightly in a chair. “Now, here’s what we will do. Children, you will search the forest and corral every single skunk you can find to the house. Be careful in the forest though, dears. Thaddeus and I will make them spray the whole village and its surroundings. The smell should cover our scent from any Titans that might pass by. Husband mine, you will send a letter to your friend in the Garrison and ask him to find out anything he can about Atlas and to let us in the Walls at an undetermined date. When he responds, and he should agree, we will be able to take back our Atlas before too much damage is done.”

 

          When everyone nods in assent, she turns to Errol, still despondent in his chair. “And _that_ , dear husband, is how to properly defend one’s family.”

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Hange whistles as Levi wraps her ankle. She’s never been good at it, and she enjoys the minute flinching every time she hits a particularly off note. When he is finished, she sweetly thanks him, which he brushes off with a gruff insult he hardly means. She grins and rolls her eyes. Honestly, she doesn’t know why Levi still tries to deny that they’re friends; he knows it, she knows it, and she knows that he knows it. But Levi always was a stubborn midget who believed he didn’t deserve anything nice beyond tea, cleanliness, and opportunities to kill Titans. It’s quite sad – sadder than the piles of steaming Titan flesh that litter the ground around them, which is quite a feat considering her hopeless obsession with all things Titan.

 

          She reflects upon Levi’s self-hatred as she idly tests how much weight her ankle can take before the pain becomes debilitating – she’s only mildly masochistic, she _swears_ – when she sees something move out of the corner of her eye. Glancing around (Levi’s sneering at Titan blood, Shadis is talking to one of the group, the other group members are either crying, sitting on the ground in silence, or completing various tasks) so she moseys on over to the movement with the air of a cat stalking a leaf. It’s amazing that no one noticed her, especially when her trying to be inconspicuous is more conspicuous than her normal behavior. Hange recognizes the corpse of the 15-meter Aberrant, and pauses to shed a tear over the lost potential. When she rounds the heap of smoking bones, she pauses again, this time in shock.

 

          It’s a young boy. If she had to guess the age, she’d say in the whereabouts of thirteen or so. The boy is hunched into a quivering ball, staring at nothing and muttering gibberish to himself. The boy is also extremely nude, which doesn’t bother her much.

 

          She blinks, then the ridiculousness of the situation gets to her. She’s literally staring at a young boy who came out of nowhere and seems to be mentally disabled. Her laughter surprises the boy, who finally seems to register someone’s presence.

 

          “No, nonono, Father don’t, no! Eat, eat, eateat, _eat_!” A pause, then the boy starts up again. Hange listens, morbidly captivated. “Water, hate, trees. Human, man, men … Titan. Protect, I protect. Mother, fruit is sweet, sweet juice, sweet flesh. E-eren, hunter, hunt them. E-ehrenjäger. Ehrenjäger. Ehrenjäger. Ehrenjäger. Hunt, kill, kill, blood, red, flesh. _Kill them all_.”

 

          The boy stops as abruptly as he began, and Hange is left with a deeply unsettled feeling. There was a fifty-fifty chance this boy was an escapee from the Walls with a murderous past, or a traumatized survivor of living outside the walls. Eh, whatever. She’s probably more insane than this boy, anyway. Besides, her duty as a soldier is to protect humanity, and this kid fits the bill of a human, so that means he has to be taken back to the safety of the Walls. Mind made up, she grabs the kid by the knees and arms, and hoists him up. Geez, the boy’s heavy, but she manages to carry him towards her squad. Thankfully, he doesn’t so much as twitch in her hold, so that helps.

 

          By the time she reaches where most of her squad has congregated, they’re all looking at her with undisguised, blank astonishment. Hange ignored all of them and sets the boy in the middle of the impromptu grouping. Dusting her hands off, she straightens up and beams widely.

 

          “What. The. Hell. What the fuck are you doing, Hange?” Levi growls, dismounting in a graceful arc from his horse, both animal and man snorting at the same time.

 

          “I agree. Zoe, what are you doing? Why is this boy here?” Shadis chimes in, nonexistent heavy brows drawing together in consternation.

 

          “I found him over by one of the corpses. Say hello, kiddo.” She waggles her fingers at the unstable boy lying in a jumble at her feet.

 

          The boy twitches violently, and the babble begins anew. “Wrong trees, wrong body, wrong, wrongwrong. Not wanting, no, none, nothing. Hello, hi, hi hi, hello, hell, _hell_. Kill, eateat, blood, killthemall, Ehrenjäger, Ehrenjäger – _father no why_?” He breaks off with a hissing noise. Hange also hisses, just like a tea kettle, when the boy says hello like she asked him to.

 

          Shadis pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs noisily. “Only you, Hange. Only you would find a batshit teenager in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

 

          Hange coos and pinches the boy’s cheeks, deliberately ignoring her commanding officer’s comment. “Can we keep him?”

 

          “No.”

 

          “I want to keep him.”

 

          “No.”

 

          “Can we at least bring him back to the walls?”

 

          “…”

 

          “Is that a yes I hear in that silence, Captain?”

 

          “ _Fine_.”

 

          Hange whoops in triumph and dances a circle around the boy. “YES! I’m going to ask you so many questions! I’m going to learn everything about you! Would you mind being the subject of a few experiments? I’ll take that mumble as a yes! You’ll ride with me on my horse, that’s a horse over there, her name is Shelley! I can already tell we’re going to be good friends.”

 

          “Wall Sina. I’d take a mountain-full of horse shit over hearing Hange obsess over this brat. And here I thought she only got this fucking excited over Titans crapping in the woods. Fuck, this is going to be a long week back.” Levi curses fervently for a few minutes in the background.

 

          Hange strategically ignores him, and instead tests whether the boy is more responsive of sound, smell, touch, taste, or sight. So far, it’s sounds that cause the most reaction. Rose, she hasn’t been this excited since she had read the works of Grisha Jaeger.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Her subject has been fascinating. He seems to have a rudimentary grasp of language, but almost never directly responds to questions. He doesn’t respond to poking besides moving slightly or scowling slightly. The gibberish never seems to gain coherence, and stays as a string of unconnected fragments of thoughts. It’s almost as if the subject has experienced a complete and utter mental break, if not for the fact that he does respond to orders and events in the middle of his jabbering. His condition is fascinating.

 

          She’s furiously scribbling down notes as the boy rejects the plate of food once again. They had found him yesterday, and he hadn’t eaten anything whatsoever. When presented with venison stew, he wrinkled his nose and nudged the bowl away. With wild potato stew, he simply ignored it. Even berries and army rations got no more than an arched eyebrow and a curled lip.

 

          Hange’s been observing him in her spare moments between Titans, forgoing eating except when Levi manhandled food down her throat, and who needs sleep anyway – not her! The subject never seems to sleep, so she doesn’t sleep either, and her diligence is rewarded when he calms down under the stars – he looks up at them, completely still, and stands up to his full height for the first time (he’s taller than Levi, which brings her endless amusement). He is skittish around horses, sits on them with bad grace and a twitchy wariness. The horses seem to like him as much as he likes them, but at least they haven’t shown their distrust beyond shying away or showing teeth. It rained for about an hour, more of a sprinkle really, he made a hissing noise like water in contact with hot metal – the noise had continued for as long as the rain lasted – and had sat on his saddle with a dejected and miserable air.

 

          She’s in the middle of noting his habit of growling at insects that buzz around him when she remembers something and almost falls off her horse from shock.

 

          “Sweet Rose and Maria! I forgot to give him a name!” She can’t believe she forgot. She’d had this habit of naming everything she came across. She had named all of her squad’s horses, each of her pencils in her stash, even her bedroll for Walls’ sake.

 

          Levi groans from up ahead, and turns in his saddle to send her an icy glare. “I think the brat already has a name; you just don’t know it. Besides, I’ll go batshit if you keep nattering on about the exact shade of his eyes or about his ‘perfectly endearing’ habit of wanting to kill everything. I’d rather not know if he shits behind bushes or in front of them.”

 

          A mite offended, she sniffs daintily. “I’ll have you know, Levi, that he has given no indication of bowel movements or of being named. _Thank_ you, so much.”

 

          In silence, she meditates on the problem of the naming until they stop for the night. Nothing strikes her as perfect. She slowly chews on a piece of hardened biscuit as she stares across their small campfire at the boy. The rest of the squad is in their tents, except for the watchman and them.

 

          “Fire is hot, burns, _don’t touch it you’ll hurt yourself_. Touchtouch touch, touch. Water is cold, cold, drowning is cold. Rain, rain, go away, rain, rain, rain drowns, wet, water. Blood is wet, no drowning, redredred, life runs, time runs, out out out. Running, run away, run away little boy, small boy … small boy. Armin. Yellow, yellow, blue, books, pond, home home home home. Agatha, Mikasa, Errol, Thaddeus, Atlas, Ehrenjäger. Atlas, Ehrenjäger, Titan, Human, both, neither, lost lost lost lost, father no. Kill them all. Titans. Humans. Kill them all. Ehrenjäger, Atlas. Failed, failed, why father why?”

 

          Hange is busy writing down every word he says when she realizes that he’s saying names. She doesn’t know who the people mentioned are – presumably they’re his dead family – but he keeps repeating two of them. Maybe he had been trying to tell them his name all along?

 

          She scoots around the fire and settles near the boy who’s eyes flicker towards her and then focus back on the fire. “Heya, kiddo. I realized that I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name’s Hange. Do you have a name?”

 

          “Name, name, naming, aim. Names are nothing – roses are roses, noses are noses. Nosy, noisy, nasty, name. No names is normal – time runs, blood runs, fickle, fickle head.” He rocks back and forth slowly, shaking his head quickly in small, furtive movements.

 

          She leans back slightly, taken aback at the mostly coherent and almost direct answer to her question. This hadn’t happened before. Maybe it had something to do with the other names he had said earlier?

 

          “So, you don’t have a name? Or did you forget it? You must have had people who called you something. What did they call you?” She tries again, angling for a different approach.

 

          “Armin, Mikasa, Agatha, Errol, Thaddeus. Names, naming, roses and noses. Atlas, Ehrenjäger, Titan, Human, both, neither, wrong wrong. Lost roses and noses and father and blood. Ehrenjäger, Atlas, Atlas, Ehrenjäger. Kill, kill them all. Made and born, kill them all, no, protect them all, Atlas, Ehrenjäger. Made for blood, born for hope, run run run, choose, no choice, only home.”

 

          A sick feeling sours in the back of her throat, and she has a sneaking suspicion that the boy in front of her is not what he appears. She had heard of experiments run by the military – not like her experiments, those were mostly benign – in which their main goal was to create the perfect soldier to fight the Titans. She had heard horror stories whispered around the mess hall and in hallways before lights out. Babies born with the mouths of Titans, men with awesome strength but dangerous appetites, girls horribly deformed but sound of mind, children twisted and sickly with minds as gnarled as their fingers. Was this boy a product of one such experiment that had somehow escaped the walls, or maybe even been abandoned outside them? Such a boy needs something to hold onto his humanity, something like a name that’s wholly his own.

 

          She stands and puts her finger in the air ceremoniously. “It has been decided! I name you Eren from the Greek Erinyes, defenders of justice, so that you may pursue injustice to the ends of the Earth. I name you Atlas so that your path may always be marked and you will always know your path though the way might be dark. I name you Jaeger so that you can hunt down all those who walk the ways of the selfish. I name you a caretaker of justice so that you remember those who do not get their fair dues! I name you honorable hunter so you can cast down those who seek to further injustice in the world! I name you Titan so you do not forget your humanity! I name you Eren Atlas Jaeger so that you may be known and know others in return! I have named you, now let thy name be known!”

 

          Slightly out of breath, she sits back down and smiles broadly at Eren. He is completely still and silent, looking almost bewildered and about to cry, but then he is returning her smile. “Yes, good, good naming. Hange, yes, good. Eren Atlas Jaeger, Human, Titan, both, neither, good good, hope and blood and home.”

 

          Her jaw falls slack at the mention of her name, and she can’t help it; she squeals shrilly and throws her arms around Eren. He is stiff, but at least he allows her hugs. Levi always dodges them or else pins her arm behind her back until she backs off. It’s nice to be touching another person. When she is done, she realizes that the boy looked lonely, and that made her realize that she had literally stolen the boy from wherever he had lived and stuck him into a camp where he knew no one at all.

 

          Slightly sheepish, she knows she can’t bring him back to the forest, so she instead makes an offer. “Do you want to be friends, Eren?”

 

          He blinks, then a half-smile shadows his face. “Roses and noses and names and claims. Friendly not deadly, not kill them all, no choice, choose home, home, home friendly, choose friends.”

 

          She takes it as acceptance, and then marks another tally on her short friend list. They are both silent for the rest of the night, and Hange doesn’t feel the need to document every action like she always does. It’s kinda nice.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I think this chapter needs some explanation. First, plot. Atlas (or now Eren?) is called by Errol to help the Scouts, but freezes at the sight of the dead boy. Levi sees him and kills him, and Atlas/Eren emerges from his Titan body and stumbles around for a little bit before passing out. Hange finds him and takes him with the Scouts, while the Arlerts are frantic and have formed a plan of how to get him back. And as for the Atlas/Eren dialogues, I was of the mind that he is disoriented and confused, dealing with two sets of contradicting memories, getting used to being human again, and now can actually speak properly. After he remembers the Arlerts, then he somewhat settles down and realizes what happened to him with the Scouts. He’s smart enough to realize that the only option is to stay human unless he wants to die for real, so he goes along with it. If anyone doesn’t understand what Atlas/Eren is trying to say, I can give you guys my interpretations of what it means. (Can you guys tell I wrote most of this chapter at, like, midnight with my inspiration as a mixture of Gollum and sleep-deprivations?)
> 
> Gosh, if I had any artistic talent at all, I would draw that scene with chibi!Hange finding Atlas/Eren and bringing him back to the squad!


	7. Tale of Two Families

 

 

 

          Hange wails loudly on Erwin’s desk, limbs akimbo and tears staining the neatly finished paperwork. Erwin exchanges a glance with the teenager standing next to one of the bookcases; the boy shrugs neutrally and goes back to skimming the titles on each shelf. Erwin has to deal with the crying woman all by himself, then. Skies, he’d never been good with emotions nor women, so he does what he does best – authority.

 

          “Hange, you know that you can’t keep the boy. You’re a soldier, and I can’t allow an untrained civilian to accompany you and your squad. It goes against protocol, and would put everyone involved with the situation in danger. When you asked me yesterday, my answer was no. My logic hasn’t changed since then, therefore, my answer is still no, bu –”

 

          She sobs even louder and if it was possible, more dramatically. “B-but he’s s-so interesting, and h-he’s one of my f-friends now, and he d-doesn’t have a-anywhere to go, and –”

 

          “Hange, you didn’t let me finish. If you had, you would have heard that I contacted a woman in Shiganshina who would be willing to take Eren into her household.”

 

          She stands and wipes off the wetness from her face; hair still sticks up haphazardly, but that’s nothing new for her. He leans forward and calmly begins to gather up the scattered papers.

 

          “B-but he’s fragile and n-needs me to translate w-what he says.” She continues crying, only this time latched onto and around the young boy, who tolerates it with passive allowance.

 

          Erwin steeples his hands in front of his face and stares at the two of them. “The woman used to run the military children’s center and her husband, before he was killed, was a military psychologist. She only has one child – a daughter, I believe – so she could provide all the care Eren would need physically, mentally, and emotionally. She seems to be the ideal candidate for fostering Eren. So, what reasons do you have for wanting to keep the boy that aren’t sentimental?”

 

          She flounders for a second, then forges ahead. “Well, I n-need a research assistant and someone who has been near Titans before!”

 

          He leans back and taps a pen thoughtfully on his knuckles. “Is that so? Well, you’re in luck, because a recruit has expressed interest into working within the scientific department of the Scouting Regiment. And as you are the head of that department, I see no reason why you couldn’t take on a research assistant from our ranks, besides sentimentality, that is. And you know how I feel about sentimentality, Hange.”

 

          Her shoulder slump, and the boy nuzzles her head softly. Erwin can see that she understands. It’s not personal really. He just doesn’t want anyone compromised or dead because of sheer sentiment. Besides, both would be better off in the scenario he just described. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling a sliver of sympathy for the scientist.

 

          “I-I understand, Erwin.” Skies, she sounds miserable.

 

          “Good. Now, I want to speak to Eren alone for a few minutes.”

 

          She collects herself, pats down her flyaway hair, hugs the boy again, then regally walks out the office door – each step is measured and deliberate, she acts like a queen on the way to her own funeral, all full of poise and grim dignity; she looks like an overdramatic horse.

 

          The office is silent. The boy watches Erwin with wary eyes that catch every slight movement. It’s a little disconcerting, almost making him chuckle when he ponders if other people feel that way when Levi pays attention. But, enough of that.

 

          “Do you understand what is going to happen with you?”

 

          The boy blinks quickly a few times. “Eren Jaeger, Shinigasha, no, Shiganshina, staying new house, new friends, no Hange, no eating, no, no, no.”

 

          Now, it’s Erwin’s turn to blink. Levi had told him of the boy’s penchant for obscure language, but it was still more alien than he had been expecting. But, the boy seems to have a good grasp of the situation, minus the ‘no eating’ part. “Yes. You will be staying with a woman and her daughter in Shiganshina for the time being. When you become a legal adult, you can choose to stay there or go somewhere else. If, one day, you choose to join the military, your age will not be considered because of your special circumstances.”

 

          The boy jerkily nods a few times and swallows noisily. “Naming and games, new house name, new name friends, who, who, who friends, what friends, when friends?”

 

          Erwin takes a moment to sift through the information in that one sentence before he figures out the true question being asked. “The woman’s name is Carla, and her daughter is named Dina. Carla’s husband worked in the military as a type of doctor, but was sadly killed a few years ago. You will be leaving for Shiganshina tonight. I’ll have Hange escort you there as a farewell.”

 

          The boy nods again, more subdued, and meets Erwin’s eyes for the first time since he entered the office. “Good, yes, yes. Hange good, new friends good, new home good. Thanking important, thank, thank.”

 

          Hange was right; this boy truly is fascinating. Erwin leans forward, and with a great deal of respect, says, “You’re welcome, Eren. I hope you will consider the Scout Regiment when you become acclimated to living here again. Now, go tell Hange to come back in here and I’ll give her the news.”

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Atlas (no, he’s Eren now and he likes that name so much better because its more him) Eren is standing inside the doorway of a small house. Hange-friend had just left, and now he is alone with Carla-newfriend and Dina-daughter. He doesn’t know what to do; he knows his speaking isn’t the same as other humans, and he doesn’t want to accidentally frighten these people. Instead, he stands paralyzed.

 

          Dina is staring at him. She looks like a female version of Armin – blue eyes, blonde hair, round cheeks – which calms him down slightly. Carla looks more like Eren himself – dark hair, pointed chin, big eyes – which he doesn’t know how to feel about. But Carla has kindness written in the lines around her mouth and eyes, so he supposes that makes her better.

 

          He’s not quite relaxed when Carla rises to her feet and comes towards him. “Hello. I’m Carla Grisham; this is my daughter, Dina. We hear you don’t have a home; this can be your home if you wish.”

 

          Home? But he already has a home, and a family. They’re just not here at the moment. But no one here knows that, and he can’t tell them because then they might be in danger. It’s better that he play along for now. Maybe if he joined the military like Erwin-eyebrows said, then he could escape and go back to them. But he can’t do that until he learns how to be human again.

 

          “Shiganshina, new home, Carla newfriend, Dina daughter, new Eren Jaeger, learn human. Hello, hello, hello, new names, new home, good, good.” He winces, not knowing their reactions to his speaking.

 

          “Momma, why does he talk like that?” Dina asks, wide-eyed and apprehensive.

 

          Carla shushes her daughter and gives Eren a welcoming smile. “Yes. Hello, Eren. Wouldn’t you like to sit down? I could make you tea or something to eat.”

 

          He shudders. “No eat, none eating, no need, no want, no no no.”

 

          Her smile doesn’t fade in the slightest. “It’s okay if you don’t want to eat right now. Would you like me to show you around the house, or maybe meet some of the neighbors?”

 

          He doesn’t really want to meet new people who might not be as kind as Carla, but learning about the house doesn’t seem too bad. “House showing, new house, new place, good good. More people, no, no want.”

 

          Carla nods, her smile becoming even sweeter. “Sure. Let’s give you a tour. Dina, do you think you could go out and get some more firewood for us?”

 

          Dina scurries off with a last, backwards glance towards Eren. Carla doesn’t try to take his hand, which he does appreciate. The room he had started in was called the living room (maybe because people live in it) and had a fireplace and different types of seats. Through a door, the next room is the kitchen, which also has a small table and chairs in it; that’s where Carla cooks and where breakfast is eaten. In the same room as the kitchen is the dining room, where they eat everything except for breakfast. Then a long, narrow room with doors lining the sides; it’s apparently called the hallway, and it isn’t actually a room. One of the doors holds an office that Carla tells him to not enter. The door across from the study is a laundry room, where things like clothes are washed. The next set of doors are both bedrooms, where each person has a place to sleep and hold their belongings. The last set is another bedroom and a bathroom, where they do things like “hygiene” (which he doesn’t know what that means). Then, Carla has to explain hygiene to him, and then tells him the rules that come with living in her house – Eren tries to memorize them. Here’s what he remembers the rules as:

 

1\. No breaking anything on purpose/no mess-making.

2\. Hygiene will be done once a day.

3\. Chores are something that need to be done a lot.

4\. Sleep starts after the tenth hour.

5\. Three times a week, there will be lessons to listen to and do.

 

          After the rules are administered, she leads him to the bedroom at the end of the hallway and says that he can stay there or accompany her for a while. He wants to be alone right now and sort through his thoughts. She understands.

 

          He opens the door carefully, not used to the operation of doorknobs. For his new size, the room is big enough. There’s two of those soft feather-things, which are now called mattresses and pillows – which he is very happy to have since he had to leave all his behind. There is a small wooden thing (a desk) with a chair, wedged underneath the small door (window). On the desk, a flower-thing, um … vase sits with a bright array of marigolds spouting out the top. There’s a small shelf above the bed, and another wooden thing (a dresser) to put clothes in. The room itself is painted a light sepia brown color, and manages to feel cozy and familiar despite his never having set foot in the room before.

 

          Eren runs a hand along the edge of the mattress and sits down. The toppings are soft, and he breathes in the faint scent of lemon and pine that clings to the walls; the same smell as Carla exudes. It’s strange how his nose is about as sensitive as it was as a Titan, but his ears have deafened and his eyes have dulled. Humans are amazing that they can get so much done walking around being so unaware of their surroundings; but, he thinks, that explains a lot about their behavior. He keeps forgetting that he wasn’t always a Titan, that this state of being was natural to him once. But after being a Titan for years, this body became foreign, and he eventually forgot that he ever was one.

 

          And coming back to human life after so long is strange. Why do humans bare their teeth in a gesture of good will; with animals, bared teeth means you’re about to get bitten. He’s doing it again, calling people “humans” as if he wasn’t one. But, then again, he doesn’t really feel fully human anymore; he feels more like a Titan – wait, no, he feels more like neither one fits him quite right anymore. Eren may look like a human with his rounded ears and dulled teeth, but he feels no hunger nor fatigue. He is stronger than ordinary people (the incident where he broke the horn on his saddle comes to mind; Hange had thankfully just laughed her head off instead of berating him). He is faster, more agile. His senses are greater, handicapped though they might be.

 

          Sometimes, he feels too big for this body, like if he flexed hard he could break out of his skin and trample a city.

 

          No, he doesn’t really belong behind these walls. He is not one of them, and hasn’t been for years. He can’t stay here for too long; he might transform back into a Titan and kill people. If would be best for everyone if he just went back to his forest and found his family again; they would be able to help him, he just knows it.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          For a few weeks now, there has been an existing peace between the three members of the Grisham family. Dina _definitely_ doesn’t like Eren, but puts up with him for Carla’s sake; the feeling is mutual. It had taken Eren a week to figure out the proper way to do hygiene, and lessons weren’t so bad because all they had to do was read. Every day, to appease Carla, he has to eat at least one meal, which he vomits back up later when he’s alone. Life is peaceful with Carla and Dina, and he’s been learning how to make proper sentences. Everything’s going well, and while Eren wouldn’t say he’s happy, he’s relatively content.

 

          At least, until now a few minutes ago when Carla insisted on sending him and Dina to the market. Together.

 

          Dina has the money, Eren has the bags, and they’re both walking as far apart as they can manage on the street. Thankfully, it’s not his first time in a crowd of people, so he’s not too overwhelmed. But it is his first time in the market, and it’s full of bountiful experiences. His nose picks up on exotic fragrances and spices; his ears ring with the shouts of vendors and thronging people; his eyes are full of new colors and movements. The market much more appealing than keeping Dina company, so as she is picking out the goods and paying for them, he disappears and explores on his own, coming back only when she needs to put the goods in one of the bags.

 

          The first stall he finds sells books, and he stares at a red leather-bound vellum beauty until he senses that Dina has finished with one vendor. The second stall he stumbles upon has a stunning array of fabric and cloth; he finds one with little rhomboid-shaped mirrors sown on it so that when it captures light it sends flashes along its length; he manages to tear himself away when Dina’s irritated yell cuts through the clamor. The last stall he visits has elegant masks for balls and parties, and he is captivated by one in the shape of crow’s wings before Dina appears and drags him off by the elbow.

 

          Their purchases finished, they start back home. Dina is grumbling at him, so he shifts his attention to the cobblestones on the road instead. They’re all different shades of brown, white, and gray, and they fit together like the jumble of leaves on the forest floor. He traces one vein of white through its twisting path. So caught up in his game, he almost plows nose-first into a cart in the street; Dina has to pull him back, so naturally she’s angry about that too.

 

          They’ve stopped because two carts collided and ended up blocking almost the entire street. There’s only a small gap between a building and the end of one pf the carts. There’s a crowd of people trying to get past who aren’t too pleased with the blockage. One cart is filled with logs; a short, ruddy-faced, portly man with a fine mustache (presumably the owner) is standing up with the reins to nothing still clasped in his hands and shouting at the man in the cart opposite him. The other man, a thin man with a sharp face and a perpetually displeased expression shouts back from atop his cart filled with candlesticks. The scene is comically absurd, and Eren doesn’t mind the delay; it gives him time to watch the scenario unfold.

 

          It’s almost disappointing when he squeezes through the gap behind the heavyset man’s cart; now a few members of the Garrison have gotten involved and are standing at the bottom of the carts like hand-wringing worrywarts. Dina follows a few seconds later, and she’s wiggling through when the soldiers apparently lose patience with the portly man and begin to take him off the cart. The added weight, along with the man’s struggling, cause the broken wheels to shift alarmingly, sending the cart rocking backward.

 

          There’s a cry of pain, and then Dina is pinned by the cart. He only has a few seconds until her lungs are crushed, so he braces himself on the wall, and uses both his arms and legs to shove the cart away. It’s unimaginably heavy, but it yields to him, and within a few seconds, he’s made enough space for Dina to crawl out. As soon as she’s clear, he lets go and shimmies underneath before he can get slammed, then squirrels out between the wheels. Eren picks her up, then begins to walk back to their house. Dina doesn’t feel to warm, but then again, nothing feels warm to him, and she sometimes kicks his arm on purpose.

 

          Her eyes are narrowed and calculating like she wants something. “You saved me. Why?” She demands once they’re away from the carts and the people.

 

          He shrugs lightly. “Protect people. You are people. I protect. You are newfriend, Carla is newfriend. No harming with me.”

 

          “Hmph. I still don’t like you, you know. And I’m ‘human’, not ‘people’. I thought Momma was teaching you how to speak properly. If you can’t distinguish between referring to a group of humans versus an adjective describing humanity, then I don’t know why she bothers.”

 

          Eren has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. If this meant that Dina was warming up to him, then he’d prefer she didn’t. Still, corrections are needed, if not wanted, if he is to learn how to speak. And if he has to deal with insults, then he would learn everything she said perfectly – even if just to spite her.

 

          By the end of the day, there are rumors circulating about a boy with the strength of a hundred men who saved a little girl from being crushed. The accounts differ; some say he lifted both carts with ease, some say the boy only grabbed her before she could be flattened, some say that it wasn’t a boy but a man, some say that there wasn’t a boy at all and the girl saved herself.

 

          But in the end, the only truth that matters to a small family of three, is that they are together and unharmed.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          It’s finally dusk, and Hannes is free to tilt his chair back, prop his legs up, and drink enough beer to make a horse sick. Of course, he could do this anywhere and anytime, but today he wanted to drink in the privacy of his room because, _hoo boy_ , today had been a doozy.

 

          Earlier in the morning, he had ventured outside the walls – just for a split second, he wasn’t _that_ stupid – to check underneath a rock. And not just any rock, the one he and the Arlerts had agreed to place any correspondence under in case of emergencies. Thankfully, he only has to risk his life once a month, which considering the years of friendship between them, is paltry. Normally, there isn’t anything under the rock, but today there was. He hadn’t read the letter yet, wanting to do so in private and not outside the walls, but before he could make it back to the safety of his room, he and his unit had been called for patrol duty. And so the letter burned a hole in his pocket while worry burned a hole in his brain.

 

          And _then_ , patrol duty was relatively normal up until his unit had heard of a disturbance resulting in a street being blocked, and _had_ to go check it out. It was nothing major, just a couple of carts with bad drivers, but the arguing is what made the case. The two cart-owners were too busy shouting at each other to let his unit get permission to start clearing away the blockage, so he and a few others climbed up on the cart to get one of the men to step down and start thinking rationally. The man started thrashing and bellowing something about the _Department_ , and _superiors_ , and _hear about this_ , and really Hannes didn’t pay attention; it’s all the same crap with the higher classes. However, he did start paying attention when there was a lurch underneath his feet and the cart started sliding backwards right into where the civilians were passing through. He had enough time to think _Shit_ before a child’s cry of pain split the air. So he had let go of the old blowhard and hopped down from the cart to try and help. But apparently his help wasn’t needed; this wonder-kid just up and pushed the cart away. Outdone by a kid, nice. But at least no one had been hurt by his order to retrieve the old fart, because there’s no doubt that he was responsible for that little girl almost being killed.

 

          And with a day like that, it’s only natural that he wants to drink himself into a stupor. But he can’t, yet. He has a letter to read first. He starts searching fruitlessly for a letter opener before realizing it’s just a folded piece of paper, and then has to shake his head at his own daftness. Recognizing the handwriting as Errol’s he sips at his beer while reading; the sips eventually stop as he reads further.

 

_H._

_As you know, my family and I are living outside the walls. I will not go into detail about where we are and how we have survived, but I must tell you that some time ago, we found a feral young boy in the wilderness and accepted him into our family. During a recent Titan attack, the Scouting Legion happened upon him in a vulnerable state, and although with good intentions, took him away from us. Now, I know that you don’t have much to do with the Scouts, but I ask you to find out what happened to him after they found him, and where he is now. If you do agree to find him, please write back to us with any information you might find. We wouldn’t expect you to do anything beyond this except raise the gates for us._

_He would possibly be going under the name of Atlas Arlert, or possibly just Atlas. Included is a sketch of what he looks like._

_E. A._

 

          Curious, he looks at the other page included. The boy is intense-looking, to say the least. Narrow and slightly long-limbed in the way of all teenagers. Shaggy hair, almost freakishly large eyes. Fairly distinctive, so it shouldn’t be too hard for people to remember if they’ve seen him. Of course, he couldn’t just walk around and ask people on the street. But there is a reunion coming up; all his friends from training would be there and there would be a _lot_ of booze. Alcohol plus friendly sentiments equals honesty and a willingness to share. Asking around there would be okay. And if nothing panned out, then there was another option he could try, but only if nothing came up; he’s none to eager to rack up a debt, no matter the size.

 

          Matter settled, Hannes once again tips his chair back, props up his feet, and starts trying to get drunk enough to bark like a dog.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was laughing over how Erwin can’t resist a plug for the Survey Corps. I mean, really Erwin, you’re going to try and recruit a somewhat mentally-unstable kid who doesn’t know how to live like a human or even how to talk? And then Erwin-eyebrows?!?! I laugh too much over my own jokes.   
> We’ll see more about Hannes soon, and I have OPINIONS on my characterization of him, which I will get into later.   
> And, gosh, I put too much effort into the details. Even the marigolds on Eren’s desk have meaning. Marigolds can mean despair and grief over the loss of love, beauty and warmth of the rising sun, winning someone’s affections through hard work, creativity and the drive to succeed, desire for wealth, cruelty and coldness due to jealousy, sacred offerings to the Gods, remembering and celebrating the dead, and promoting cheer and good relations in a relationship. If that doesn’t sound like this chapter, then I’ll eat my father. (haha)


	8. I Hate To Love You/I Love To Hate You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s ready for Detective!Hannes! I AM! But seriously, though. I got a real noir detective vibe from this chapter, AND I LOVE IT! Hannes feels kinda like Eddie from “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” (if anyone’s seen that movie).

 

 

 

          Hannes walks into the bar a little late, but no more than what’s expected of him. The reunion takes up almost the entire tavern, but the barkeeper doesn’t care – only too happy to take military money. It’s nice to see his friends all together in one place; most had either gone to the Scouts or the Military Police (his friends were a weird group of reckless diehards, scrupulous students, and a few lazy bums like him). And cups raise in the air and a roar of welcome greets him at the door. Familiar faces, aged by the hand of time, are a welcome sight indeed, even if it had only been five years since they had all gotten together.

 

          It would be nice to get spectacularly drunk with his friends, but he’s here with a purpose. He’s already picked out which of his friends in the Scouts would be both receptive to his questions and in a high enough position to have heard anything about the boy – _oh good, they’re sitting together_. He plops down at a somewhat empty table in the middle of the room. Lanara Wilmen, red-headed as ever, punches him in the shoulder as gently as she can (which is to say, not very). Rikkan Vandrick, his old bunkmate, hands him a mug of crappy ale. Between his two friends, is the slumped figure of someone who looks to be Whitt Sopper; a wisp of a guy who never could hold his drink.

 

          “He-ey, Hannes, you old catfish, how’ve you been?” Lanara slumps an elbow over the table, and pounds his back enthusiastically with her free hand. Yep. Still acting just like a highly muscular golden retriever.

 

          Before he gets a chance to respond, Rikkan interrupts. He’d always been more impulsive than polite, but clueless enough that no one really cared. “Oh ho! If we’re bringing up old nicknames then I wouldn’t be the one to start it, Miss ‘Sure, I Can Prank The Instructor And Not Get Caught’.”

 

          Lanara’s face turns red, either from embarrassment or anger or both, and hisses at him. “That’s not fair to bring that up! The insults are unbalanced. I just called him that because he looks like one with the wimpy mustache that he’s kept since he could grow one. You have no right to compare that to the Incident That Shall Not Be Named.”

 

          Hannes raises his hands peacefully. “Hey, hey, calm down guys. I guess I do kinda look like a catfish. I don’t mind.” Lanara simmers down, and he allows himself a moment of teasing. “Besides, I wasn’t the one to try and scare our teacher on that camping trip by walking around at night with stilts on, imitating a Titan. And then promptly tripping over a stick and falling right into his tent.”

 

          She sinks down in her chair and groans despairingly, while Rikkan howls with laughter. “O-oh, bricks! I-it was hilarious! Walking a-around and wailing, a-and then, and then, _wham_ , r-right into his t-tent!”

 

          “Yeah? Well, you were no better!” Lanara slams the table in front of Hannes, leaning in slightly, eyes alight with the competitively unholy fire of someone with a means of attack and the will to use it. “Hey, Rikkan, don’t you remember when Hannes here thought he could sneak alcohol into camp by pretending it was water, and the teacher got suspicious and made him drink it all in front of him?”

 

          Rikkan, already guffawing, was almost helpless under the fresh onslaught. “Bricks and mortar! H-he drank a w-whole bottle of v-vodka and – and then s-stumbled around th – the camp h-hitting on ev – every g-girl! E-even Stinkbomb B-Bechel!”

 

          Hannes raises his hands again, this time in surrender. “It was an honest mistake. At the time, I thought I was talking to Rico. It was a wonder I wasn’t suspicious; she wasn’t cold and insulting!”

 

          All three of them manage to share a laugh, before Lanara sneaks a sly glance at the still loudly laughing Rikkan. “Speaking of cold … “

 

          That stopped the laughter in its tracks. “Oh, no. You wouldn’t, Lanny, don’t you dare.” Rikkin begged.

 

          But nothing could stop the slow but ceaseless roll of vengeance. Lanara feigned ignorance, picking at her nails and fooling no one. “I happen to remember this one time when we were at the winter base, and someone decided to go exploring in the mountains.”

 

          Rikkin blushed deeply, red rising all the way up to his ears. “I’d never seen snow before …”

 

          She drummed her fingers on the table, grinning behind the other hand playing with her chin. “So you decided to go frolic in the fields of snow, and accidentally wandered into the lair of a nasty-wasty grizzly bear. Instead of sneaking, you shouted loud enough to be heard aaaaaaaaalll the way to the camp, woke up said bear, and got lost on the way back trying to outrun the bear. We had to scour the forest for you, and eventually found you halfway up a pine tree frozen to the bark because you ran through a stream to hide your scent.” Her revenge complete, she leans back and takes a long draught of beer and basks in the sweet, wounded cries of her victim.

 

          Hannes has to hide a smile of his own in the rim of his drink. He had known that these two would play out the conversation exactly as they had, and now he was free to bring up the boy in a way that would minimize suspicion. “Talking about lost boys, an old friend says his kid went missing a few weeks ago and that some Scouts took him in. Sent me a letter and everything. Even a sketch. You two wouldn’t have heard anything about somebody finding a kid, would you?”

 

          Lanara shakes her head, eyebrows furrowing in thoughtfulness. “Nah, I haven’t heard anything about a kid. But there _was_ a Scout who came back with a baby goat that one time.”

 

          Rikkin scowles at the tabletop in concentration. “Yeah, or at least – I think so. Maybe a month or two ago, I heard a Scout brought someone from outside the walls, a Hanji or Hanzo or something like that – real obsessed with Titans. Didn’t hear what happened to the kid, though. Sorry, man.”

 

          Hannes smiles, though he wants to frown. _Damn_. He didn’t trust anyone else here not to go to their commanding officers and ask about a missing kid out of concern, and he really didn’t want any higherups digging into his and the Arlerts’ business. That leaves two options; one, break into HQ and find the information (which isn’t really an option for him) and two, take slightly less than legal means. _Damn_. He had hoped that he wouldn’t have to resort to asking her for help, but it looks like there’s no choice. _Damn_.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          It’s not the day after the reunion, he’d drunk too much for that, but it’s the day after. It’s drizzling slightly, so he shoves his hood farther down his face and walks faster. He’s in a seedy part of town; one where you don’t look too closely down alleyways _just in case_. But it isn’t worse than the Underground; he’d been down there once to deliver mail to an official, and he’d almost been more scared of its residents than he was of Titans. But, well, that’s neither here nor there. Hannes stops at a bar that one could find in any city; square, wood planks that smell like cheep booze, drunk men flowing in and staggering out, slightly rundown but in good enough shape, haggard wooden sign proclaiming proudly its name. _The Sliced Titan_. _Nice_.

 

          The inside is no better. There’s a slight stickiness on every surface that he’d rather not know the origins of. Grimacing at the tacky red barstools, he opts to lean against the side of the bar to speak to the owner. a rather beefy, surly man with an unfortunate lazy eye.

 

          “I’d like a pint of Winterglass, a bowl of your finest wormtail stew, and a slice of Mama’s good ol’ berry pie.” He smiles as charmingly as he can.

 

          The bartender stops polishing an already clean class and looks him over with his good eye, then spits on the floor. “Stick ta th’ menu, dirtbag. We ain’t got none a tha’ stuff ‘ere.”

 

          Hannes frowns unconvincingly. “But I heard it from this young girl who was selling cups by the side of the road. She told me if I picked and bought the magic cup from her, she’d tell me a secret. Well, I picked the right cup, and here I am.”

 

          The bartender narrows his eyes, then decides to lose all pretense of incomprehension. “Look, th’ Lady doesn’t want you ‘ere. Ever since last time, she said to keep you out.” A peculiar knocking coming from the door next to the bar interrupts the explanation. “Huh? Well, you’re one lucky son of Sina. She says you can come back.”

 

          Hannes is shoved through the door. Well, at least that worked. It’s dark though, but not enough that he can’t see the table in front of him. Contrasting the furniture outside, these table and chairs are made of dark wood, with fine red upholstery. He sits and smiles at the almost indistinguishable figure across him. “Hey, Heebie-Jeebie, long time no see!”

 

          “My name is Hebe. You have no right to familiarity. What is it you want?” Short, sharp, and to the point. Still as charming as ever. Must’ve been why he’d fallen for her.

 

          “Heh. Well, I’m looking for a boy – this boy.” He takes out the sketch and slides it across the table. Even though no motion is made to take it, he knows it’s being looked over intensely. “Friend’s son. Got taken by the Scouts and his family wants him back.”

 

          “And why should I do this for you? You’re lucky I even agreed to see you without the price of your manhood.”

 

          “Ouch, I’m hurt. What about all that time we spent together, huh?” He knows he’s playing a very dangerous game. As much as this gambit could pay off, it could quite easily kill him.

 

          A knife slams into the center of the table, and a pale face leans in from the murkiness of shadows. A heart-shaped face with cutting cheekbones, sharp eyebrows, and dagger-like eyes. Black hair drips from her face down out of sight, and eyes greener than Titan-infested lands promise his soul to ruin. She hasn’t changed a bit. Hannes thinks he could swoon.

 

          “All that time spent together was a sham, a pretense, a lie! You were working for the Garrison!” She hisses unforgivingly.

 

          He raises his hands placatingly. “Yes, I was working for the Garrison, but I never told them about your operation or where to find you. I swear, I didn’t know it was you until we stormed the place. And didn’t I testify for you in the trial? Even if you still believe it was a set-up, don’t ruin another family because ours didn’t work out.”

 

          She grins humorlessly, casually pulling the knife out of its deep divot and idly twirling it around in her hand. “You haven’t changed at all, have you, Hannes. You’re still an incorrigible drunkard with a big heart.”

 

          “And you’re still a terrifying dragon-lady with gorgeous legs and impressive knife skills.”

 

          She snorts, and regards him with something akin to weary fondness. He counts it as a win. “Flatterer.”

 

          “You love it.”

 

          She neither agrees nor denies, but turns to the sketch still on the table. “I will tell my men to keep an eye out for him. They will find him, or I will personally see to it that he is found. When that happens, one of my men will contact you.”

 

          Relieved, he starts to extend a hand out to her. “Tha –”

 

          His hand is batted away with a harsh slap. Better than a knife, though. “Don’t thank me. As soon as the boy is found, you will never find me again. I will never speak to you again. Is that clear?”

 

          Breathing past a sudden catch in his throat, he has to remind himself it’s not all that different since their last get-together. “Y-yeah. Sure. Promise.”

 

          Her eyes sweep him up and down, cataloguing each nuance of what feels like his soul. “Good.”

 

          “Good.”

 

          They sit for a moment in what feels like a cesspit of regret, mourning, and bitter ashes. Then, she motions to someone out of sight, and Hannes is thrown out of the bar with little ceremony. The last thing he sees before the door closes is a sweep of hair as black as tar. Dusting himself off, he sticks his hands in his pockets and begins the trek home.

 

          “Yep. Still got it.” He whispers to himself, unconvincing even to his own ears. The breeze bubbles with all the lies he's ever told to himself and others, but he doesn't stop to listen; he already knows them by heart. 

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          The moon’s high in the sky, and Erwin is still finishing up paperwork. He stops for a second, realizes that a lantern went out, relights it, then sits back down. No wonder his eyes had been so tired; he’d been squinting in near-dark for sky knows how long. His back hurts from the hunching, and he’s looking forward to retiring to his bed for some much-needed sleep. But later; he needs to finish this first.

 

          There’s a knock at his door. “Enter.” He’s not sure who it is; no one ever comes by this late at night.

 

          He recognizes the short form of one of his Scouts. “Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

 

          He waves away the apology. “It’s fine. What do you need.”

 

          The Scout fidgets slightly. “Well, you remember that boy that Hange found? Well, someone was looking for him. One of my old classmates, Hannes. He works in the Garrison.”

 

          Erwin sits back in his chair. _Oh, of course_. He had read every file of every soldier in the walls, and he remembers this Hannes. His parents had been addicts and had lost their house before Hannes was born. Hannes had grown up on the streets, helping to provide for his family with petty thievery and the like. Another family, the Arlerts, took them in, broke the parents' addictions, and helped them begin again. He had joined the Garrison when he was old enough, and proved to be a fair soldier. His parents later died in a rather unfortunate accident with a falling roof beam. Then, there was that whole fiasco with the Arlerts being investigated by the Military Police for allegations of colluding with the Titans. Erwin remembers that the Arlerts had a son before they disappeared; maybe that was the identity of Hange’s mystery ward? It _would_ explain why Hannes wanted to find the boy –  _lingering sentiment_. Besides, if the boy was separated from his family or the closest thing to it available, then it was the Scouts’ fault. 

 

          “Do nothing. Leave Hannes to his own. If he wants the boy and the boy is agreeable, then I see no reason why they should be kept apart.”

 

          “Uh? Y-yessir.” The shadow doesn’t move.

 

          Erwin raises an eyebrow. “Is there something else you wanted, Scout?”

 

          “N-no, sir. Well, yessir. Um, can I ask why?”

 

          “No.”

 

          “O-oh.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So, my version of Hannes is very dear to me. He thinks very little of himself, beats himself up about not being better. He’s also pretty smart and can read people well, but since he doesn’t think he’s a good person, he doesn’t believe it. He just thinks he’s a lazy jackass, bUT he’s SO much mORe, oKAY! I just want to shake him and smack some self-respect into him, and then hug him, and then smack the alcohol out of him. I also think that he and Pixis would get along swimmingly. (Anyone else think so, too?)
> 
> I’m seriously thinking about doing a spin-off about Hannes and Hebe, i.e. their first meeting, how they fell in love, what happened to make them so bitter, etc. What do you guys think?
> 
> Okay, this reference is going to be really esoteric for those who aren't familiar with Greek mythology. So, Hebe was originally the goddess of youth (appropriate, I thought, to find a young boy), the daughter of Zeus and Hera, and was the cupbearer for the gods. So now for a quick explanation of the scene in the bar. Hannes' impossible order actually is the codewords for gaining entry to the secret operation in the back, and the codewords are winterglass, wormtail (Peter Pettigrew, anyone?) and berry pie. And then when the bartender refuses to let him back, Hannes then says something about a young girl selling cups, which is basically just him trying to lie his way into the back rooms by saying that Hebe wants to induct him into her operation. This backfires when the bartender has already been briefed on what to do in case Hannes shows up, but then Hebe decides to let him back anyway. Everybody understand that? No? Okay then.


	9. (Don't) Tell The World I'm Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was really fun to write, and I think it's the longest chapter to date. The epic poem mentioned is the Odyssey, which I felt was appropriate since it discusses the pitfalls of recklessness as one of the major themes.

 

 

 

          At first, Dina had been very much against the idea of taking in a charity case from the Scouts. Momma and she were happy just the way they were, without a boy to ruin her fine skirts and to touch everything with grubby hands. When the crazy lady had barged in with a dirty, gangly, street boy in tow, she had felt the insult like a slap to the face. Why hadn’t Momma gotten her permission first? The boy was ramrod straight, but she got a glance at his long, ragged nails and had shuddered. And the way he spoke! Utter gibberish. Really, she didn’t feel so much as an ounce of sympathy.

 

          But, being the better person she was, she limited showing her displeasure by snide criticisms, sickly-sweet comments, and the occasional cold shoulder. The boy would glare at her, but say nothing, tight-lipped and white-knuckled. It was enough to make her chest glow with vicious satisfaction. Really, who was he to barge into her home and steal her Momma away. Momma wasn’t pleased with her behavior, and would try to say things like _he’s in need of a home_ , and _do try to be nicer, dear, he’s all alone in the world_. But Dina didn’t care; the boy was an unwelcome interloper, and if she couldn’t run him off, she would make him miserable.

 

          And then there was that cursed market expedition. Really, the boy had gotten distracted by every leaf that drifted by in the wind. She would turn her back for one second to buy the goods Momma wanted, and he would be gone! He couldn’t just stand there and wait, so that they could get the blasted trip over and done with! Finally, they had started back home (not his home, her home) but there had been a blockage in the street. Of all that could have happened, it had to be the one thing that extended the time she spent in the boy’s company.

 

          Dina had been sliding through the gap between the cart and the building, hoping that her dress wouldn’t catch on the rough stones and tear, when there was an awful screeching, tearing noise and she saw the cart rush towards her. There had been a moment of terrible, dread realization, and then almost her entire front side had been crushed against the wall. Her dress was the farthest thing from her mind; rather, her entire thought process had been awash with pain and panic. But only for a second. In a corner of her mind still clear of hysteria, she noticed the boy pushing the heavy cart away from her and taking the brunt himself. Then, she had found herself lying on the cool cobblestones of the street. She couldn’t understand. Why had the boy saved her when she had been so mean to him? If the situation was reversed, she wouldn’t have saved him. And how did he have the strength to move the cart? Well, in light of recent events, she could ignore the logistics of her savior; she owed him that, at least.

 

          And that lone event changed their relationship. She had found her cool demeanor melting slightly. Instead of criticizing his slips of language, she found herself correcting them and explaining why he was wrong. Well, if he was to live among the rest of the world, then he needed to know how to fit in and communicate clearly. And that is something she could help with. Of course, that didn’t mean she liked him or tolerated him much, which brings her to her current situation, about a month after the boy – Eren – saved her life.

 

          Dina wrinkles her nose at the boy’s penmanship. It looks like a spider was dipped in ink and then scurried across the page. Atrocious, really. She doesn’t know what Momma was thinking when she assigned Dina to be the boy’s tutor. He barely knows how to speak, can’t even hold a pen properly, and spends more time looking at the sky than studying. Shameful! But lately he’s been working harder, at the very least. But hard work can only go so far to overcome a lack of knowledge.

 

          “No, no, no! I’ll recite it again, and you try to write down what you think I’m saying.” She glares at Eren, who slumps down in his seat with a gust of air. “Alright, then?” He nods reluctantly. She clears her throat.

 

 

          Speak, Memory—

                                    Of the cunning hero,

          The wanderer, blown off course time and again

          After he plundered Troy’s sacred heights.

                                                                          Speak

          Of all the cities he saw, the minds he grasped,

          The suffering deep in his heart at sea

          As he struggled to survive and bring his men home

          But he could not save them, hard as he tried—

          The fools—destroyed by their own recklessness

          When they ate the oxen of Hyperion the Sun,

          And that god snuffed out their day of return.

                                             Of these things,

          Speak, Immortal One,

          And tell the tale once more in our time.

 

 

          Throughout her reading, he groans softly and whines like a whistle. Clearly, he doesn’t like poetry. Which is part of the reason why she chose an epic poem. She reaches a hand for his paper, which he grudgingly hands over. She scans it over – not too bad; a few misspellings and a clear lack of knowledge of commas, not to mention the handwriting – but a clear improvement over a few weeks ago.

 

          “It’s adequate.” She says reluctantly. He relaxes like a popped balloon, but she has another pin up her sleeve. “Now onto the oral section of the lesson.” His eyes open to a comically wide degree. “I want you to describe the events of how you were found by the Scouts.” Not that she’s curious or anything, really.

 

          He winces and swallows a couple of times, eyes flickering from the window, to her, to the book open on the table, to the door. Then, he seems to gather courage from somewhere and draws himself up as if preparing to face a Titan in battle. “Um, I, uh, live – _lived_ with family, _my_ family. I have brother, sister, mother, father, grandfather; we had happy, _were_ happy. Titan attack home, I not know if they alive. I wander, um, wandered away one sun, one _day_ , and see Scouts fighting Titans. I watch, watched, from trees. One Titan try, tried, to eat me and one Scout kill Titan. Hange find, found me, and take, _took_ me back to Walls. Um, then Hange take me here and I have new family.” He finishes with his hands in his lap and his eyes steadfastly set on a knot in the wood of the table, his face almost as wooden as the walls.

 

          “Oh.” She doesn’t really know what to say. She had just been vaguely curious, and needed him to say something and not read it to test his knowledge of grammar. But now, she felt somewhat despicable for making him relive the traumatic events of his arrival in Shiganshina. “I-I’m sorry.” She’s aware that she sounds pitiful and weak in the face of his terrible grief.

 

          He shakes himself and gives her a tiny smile. “It okay.”

 

          “It’s okay, not ‘it’.” She can’t help herself, and her eyes widen at her insensitive remark.

 

          Thankfully, he laughs instead of retreating into himself, and Dina can’t hold in her relieved laughter. She pretends not to see her Momma knowingly smile in the doorway. Really, Dina hates it when her Momma’s right.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Carla is very happy. It’s nice having another person in the house, especially with her husband dead. Eren is a very sweet boy, but still goes stiff when touched. It breaks her heart to see such an obviously bright young boy have so little working knowledge of how to speak or act among his own kind. But he tries, he tries so hard, whether it’s gathering wood for their fireplace or chopping vegetables for their food. He always attacks each task with careful hands, solemn dignity, and a crease between his eyebrows. If her husband were here, she’d like to think that he would love the boy. She tries her best to make Eren comfortable, be it letting him have time alone, making recipes he might like, or listening if he needs to talk. It is difficult; he flinches and startles like a deer if addressed directly or if eye contact is initiated. But, over time, he gets more comfortable with talking and touch.

 

          Then one day, she was trying to find him to ask if he wanted to help with the gardening, and she found him in the one room off-limits; her husband’s study. Her first emotion was deep, wrathful anger. Not even she had entered that room since she heard the unspeakable news, and this whelp of a boy dares to intrude in the one room she asked to be left alone! But then she looked, really looked at the boy; he had no idea of the true significance of the room, he had just been curious and meant no harm. Besides, she doubted the boy understood rules as regular people do. So, she had looked around the room, exactly as she had left it – stacks of papers strewn about on every surface, neat folders organized in drawers, the faint scent of sandalwood and acrid pipe-smoke, the chair angled slightly to the left as if someone had just risen from it, the painting of their family adjacent to the desk on the wall where he would have seen it every day.

 

          After taking in the details, she had felt at once weary and weepy, so she sat down in one of the visiting chairs by the desk and motioned for the boy to do the same. Then, she had talked to the boy in great detail about how her husband had worked for the military by fixing soldiers’ minds, and how she had opened up a children’s care center for children of soldiers both dead and alive. She told the boy about how her husband taught her how the minds of children worked, and how they were so happy with their careers and each other. She told the boy about how he had been called for a special case outside the walls and had been killed in a fit of mindless rage by the person he had come to heal. She doesn’t tell the boy about how she had fallen to her knees when the letter came, nor how she didn’t weep then, nor how she gave the center to a friend and became just a mother to her daughter instead of a wife and a teacher. The boy had nodded; she knew he understood, and they had left the room and never felt the need to talk of it again.

 

          A few weeks after that, she had decided to send Dina and Eren to the market. She had known that the two didn’t truly hate each other, and she had thought that some time together would mend the rift they insisted on deepening. In a way, her ploy had worked, just not in the way she had intended. Eren had brought Dina home in his arms; the poor girl bruised and scraped, with the ludicrous story of a cart almost crushing her daughter to death. After tending to her daughter’s wounds, Carla had collapsed over both of them and cried for almost an hour. Dina had been annoyed, but never once tried to push her mother away, and Eren had let her hug him with those sad eyes of his. She had almost lost her daughter, and because of his bravery, her son. Yes, her son. But she was just so grateful that they were unharmed and still together that she couldn’t stop crying. During this time, she also thought of her husband, how she had lost him, and that perhaps he was watching over them, and did love Eren like the son they never had. That had made her cry even harder.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Her family is happy and loud. Dina is making Eren read aloud from a book, and Eren is purposefully mispronouncing words in an overdramatic fashion just to make Dina laugh. They sit at the kitchen island while Carla cooks their dinner. Carla loves this feeling, this sense of home and hearth. If she could, she would bask in it forever. The bustle reminds her of the time when she ran the center and spent entire days with children. It’s a good memory; she’s always loved children.

 

          The pot of chili on the stove is almost done, so she shoves the cornbread into the oven. She starts cleaning up the kitchen; taking the cutting board and rinsing it off, sweeping the crumbs and bits and pieces into the garbage, wiping down the counter, and getting out the bowls and silverware.

 

          There’s a knock at the door, so she wipes her hands off on her apron and goes to see who it is. It’s a woman, rather striking-looking, with dark hair to the middle of her back and leaf-green eyes. She wears Scout garments and an official bearing as if she was born to them. _Oh_. Carla had feared this day would come.

 

          The woman smiles, pearly white teeth gleaming like knives. “Hello, my name is Phoebe, and I come bearing news from the Scouts about the boy.”

 

          Carla swallows and almost falters, but this woman seems like she could sense weakness, so Carla banishes any hint of hurt she can. “Of course. Won’t you come inside. I’ve just made chili; you can have a bowl if you like.”

 

          The woman’s smile widens marginally. “Oh, that sounds delightful! I hope I’m not intruding.”

 

          Carla lies through her teeth. “Oh, no. All visitors are welcome here. Come, I’ll set you a place.”

 

          Dina and Eren are silent – both wear almost identical expressions of mistrust, although Eren’s is more of a snarl, and Dina’s is more of a grimace. She wordlessly brushes past her children and touches them briefly on their shoulders as a reminder to be good. She then takes a bowl out of the cabinet and silverware out of the drawer, and sets them on the end of the table next to Dina instead of Eren. The woman sits with a smarmy smile at Carla, who has to hide her shiver of disgust.

 

          The woman is sitting like a cat, all lazy demeanor and coiled intensity. “So, this must be the boy of the hour. It’s very nice to meet you, Eren. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

 

          Eren says nothing, but his scowl deepens and an almost nonexistent growl works its way up his throat. The air is fraught with tension, so it’s a relief when she can take the cornbread out and dish out helpings of chili. She makes more noise that is necessary, or at least it sounds like it with the dead silence weighing down the air. She sits at the opposite end from the woman, next to Eren. He doesn’t touch his food, preferring to glare at the woman showing her enjoyment of the meal with overdramatic means.

 

          “My, my,” the woman says, “You have a real gift, Mrs. Grisham. This is simply the best chili I’ve ever tasted. I bet you didn’t get too many meals like this out in the wilderness, eh, Eren.” The woman twirls her spoon around her fingers like a baton, or perhaps a knife.

 

          Once again, Eren doesn’t answer. The woman smiles kindly, teeth flashing like warning signs. “Or then again, maybe you liked living on bugs and worms and whatever else you could scrounge up. Either way, you should thank Mrs. Grisham here for taking the time to make you such a lovely meal. Say thank you, Eren, like a good boy.”

 

          Eren shifts in his seat, looking discomfited, glancing from the woman to Carla, questioning. Carla smiles blandly at the woman, not even daring to glance at her son. “Oh, it’s okay. Eren can’t eat a lot since his stomach can’t take it. He’s already eaten today, but I put out a bowl for him as a courtesy, I guess. And he always thanks me for his food later, when we settle in for the evening.”

 

          The woman’s smile almost sours, a touch of something glints in her eyes, then it disappears. The room is silent again. When everyone is finished with eating, she gathers up their plates. When she reaches for the woman’s plate, her wrist is caught in a surprisingly strong grip. She gasps, then looks at the woman’s face defiantly.

 

          “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Grisham. The meal was delicious.” The woman croons.

 

          Carla smiles back as brightly as she can. “Oh, it’s no trouble. No trouble at all.”

 

          Her wrist is released, but she doesn’t dare rub it; instead she takes the plates to the sink and rinses them off. When that’s done, she turns to face the woman. “Tell me. You came with news from the Regiment about Eren. What is it?”

 

          The woman fakes a gasp of astonishment. “Oh, I had completely forgotten! As it turns out, Eren’s family has contacted us about their son. They are grateful for your generosity in taking the boy in, but they would like to have him back. I came here to give you an advanced warning of sorts. Someone from the Garrison should come by soon to take him back. It’s always so nice to see a family reunited, isn’t it?”

 

          Carla’s nails press against the skin of her palm, and she has to bite her tongue to keep unkind words from escaping. Dina, of course, has no such reservations and finally explodes like a budding geyser. Dina stands and vibrates like a bottled reaction, her ringlets falling in disarray about her face, and cheeks red with affront.

 

          “You bitch! You come here and intrude in on our home and dinner, insult my family, tell us what to do, and then try to force us to give him up! I don’t believe you, not for a second! If this whole story was true, which it isn’t, there would be a letter with an official seal delivered by a military courier. I’ve looked up the protocol in place just in case something happened like this. Besides, you’re wearing ceremonial Scouting gear that Scouts only wear for the most important occasions, and the callouses on your palms aren’t from handling ODM gear. Now, I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t know why you would try to trick us, but if you don’t leave our house now, I’ll report you to the Regiment for falsely impersonating a Scout and for false representation.”

 

          For the first time, the woman’s smile drops; her pretty face morphs into a snarl as she rises to her feet, but her voice is as honeyed as ever. “Now listen here, you little snot-nosed cretin. I wanted to do this the easy way, but it looks like that can’t happen now. Eren doesn’t belong here – just look at him! He belongs outside the walls with his real family. How would you like it if you were torn away from everything you knew and forced to live with another family? You’d want to go home. Eren here deserves that chance. You’d all be happier with him gone. I’m just trying to do the right thing here.”

 

          Eren doesn’t stop the growl that vibrates powerfully through the air, and stands in front of Dina protectively. Carla, white-faced, also rises to her feet. “I think you’d better leave, Miss Phoebe. You are no longer welcome here. If Eren wants to leave, it will be by his volition and none other. For as long as he stays here, we will be happy to have him. And if you insult my family again, I will not stop my children from tearing you apart. Good day, Miss Phoebe.”

 

          The woman glares at them all, and expressionless, sweeps out the door at last. Carla shakily sinks down to her chair, while Dina storms to the door and slams it shut. Eren squats at Carla’s side, and places a hand on hers.

 

          “Oh dear,” Carla mutters, “That was entirely unpleasant.”

 

          Eren snorts derisively, glances in the direction of the door, and states in a dry contempt, “Bitch.”

 

          Dina bursts out into helpless, surprised laughter, and Carla has to stifle her sudden smile. “Eren, don’t say that; it’s not nice.”

 

          “But it’s true! Dina say so, too!” Eren glances to where Dina is supported by the wall, unsuccessfully covering up her giggles.

 

          Carla sighs, amused at her two willful children despite herself, and relents. “Well, yes, but it’s still not polite. Try not to say it again, dear.”

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Hebe stalks out into the night, irritably wadding up and throwing her stolen cloak behind her in the street. She had gone to the Grisham’s house to see the extent of the affection between the members of the household. It seems they’re very protective of each other, which makes it harder to get the boy back to his parents. It’ll take something big to change his mind. She’ll send a letter to Hannes in the morning telling him of her findings and suggesting that he bring the family to the Grisham’s to collect their kid.

 

          The more she thinks about the little family, the more uneasy she feels. The boy had felt dangerous in the way of an animal – luminous eyes, coiled intent, even his bearing had been shouting his want to attack. But she had seen men like him with her career. They all behave savagely, and then they get put down like the animals they act like. The girl had been different – clearly observant, opinionated, and fierce. With her blonde hair, it was almost like looking at what Hannes and her’s kid could have looked like. That thought makes her stomach flop, so she pushes it away. Hebe can’t quite pin down what made her senses tingle, but it’s there nevertheless. Bah, it doesn’t matter anyway. She has work that needs to be done; she can’t spend all her time thinking about kids and Hannes and regret. So, like she always does, she squares her shoulders and slips away in the shadows – alone, protected, strong.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Agatha is picking fronds to weave into a tent. With a wave of nostalgia, she thinks about how fast the task would have been completed had Atlas been there. He was always so eager to help, even with the most mundane of tasks. Ever since he had been taken, her family had been subdued and restless. Armin had barely surfaced from his books; Mikasa threw herself into her training; Errol had blamed himself constantly; Thaddeus had been even more quiet than usual; and Agatha, she had keenly felt the loss of a family member. Shouts draw her from her ruminating, and she turns to see Armin and Mikasa at the edge of the forest, waving their arms rapidly in the air.

 

          They tear down the path towards her, and Armin stops in front of her, beaming so wide she half-fears his face will split and look more like Atlas than Armin. “Mum! Mother! Papa’s back and he says that Hannes found Atlas! He knows where he is!” Mikasa says nothing, but is minutely shaking in excitement.

 

          Agatha breaths a sigh of relief months in the making, takes a second to collect herself, pragmatically wipes off her hands, and follows her children back to their house. While she walks, she has to keep the devastating relief she feels locked tight. After all this time, she had feared that the Scouts had somehow discovered Atlas’ secret and had killed him. And how would they have known if that had happened?

 

          Armin bounds ahead of her, leaping forward, waiting until she catches up, then charging forward once again. Mikasa stays with Agatha, tightly grasping her hand; Agatha grasps back with just as much pressure. The walk back feels like a slow eternity, but eventually they make it. Errol is pacing back and forth in front of the hearth. She regards her husband coolly; she hasn’t forgiven him, despite his insistence to camp out by the Walls and wait for Hannes’ letter. It’s the first time she’s seen him in months – he’s disheveled and tired and it feels like she should be so very happy to see him, but all she can think of is how Atlas is gone because of him.

 

          Armin goes to his father and hugs him about the middle, and Mikasa looks happy to stand next to them both. Errol smiles and rests a hand on both his children’s heads. He meets Agatha’s eyes for a second, then looks away. He clears his throat, and then begins to speak.

 

          “Hannes managed to find Atlas. Apparently, he was given to a family in Shiganshina and has been living there for the past few months. They’ve taken good care of him, and he seems to be happy with them.” He swallows heavily, but continues. “Now, what we need to decide is whether or not we’ll go after him if he’s happy in another family and considering the dangers of going back to the Walls.”

 

          There is silence as everyone absorbs the news. Armin and Mikasa wilt in the discovery that Atlas has a new family. Agatha is about to proclaim in righteous loyalty why they should be going back to the Walls, but Thaddeus beats her to the punch.

 

          The old man leans against the wall and puffs on his pipe. “Well, I reckon if we’re careful and that friend of yours helps us out, then the Military won’t be much of an issue. Hardly anyone will remember our faces anymore, so the most dangerous part would be sneaking in and out of the Walls without alerting anyone. ‘Sides, we should go and see what the boy has to say. If he looks us in the face and tells us that he doesn’t need us anymore, then I reckon we’ll have to live with it, but at least we’ll have an answer.”

 

          Agatha blinks, then a smile plays around the corners of her mouth. “I agree wholeheartedly. Children, what do you think?”

 

          Armin nods so fast his head is a blur. “Of course, I want to see Atlas again!” Mikasa nods solemnly in agreement. “What he said.”

 

          “Well, it’s decided then. We’ll get our things together and depart as soon as possible.” Errol smiles sincerely for the first time since Agatha first saw him.

 

          “Well, at least we don’t have to waste those tents I made.” She says, mostly jokingly, but perhaps a little relieved, too -- after all, she had spent almost a month on them.

 

          "Oh, this is going to be exciting! I've only ever read about camping before!" Armin shakes Mikasa's arm as roughly as she lets him. "Will it be any different from living here?" There's a small pause as something occurs to him. "Oh ... wait. Will we have get sprayed by the skunks before we go?"

 

          Ironically, Mikasa is the one to wrinkle her nose and exclaim in disgust. "Eugh. Atlas is lucky I love him. Otherwise, I think I'd have to kill him for this."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was stupidly giggling all throughout Dina's perspective, and I just loved the interplay between Hebe and the Grisham family. 
> 
> Things are coming together, slowly but surely. I’ve been playing around with the dichotomy of the two families for a few chapters, so I’m hoping that next chapter I'll bring both families together and see what chaos (or lack of) that results in. Yay! 
> 
> Also, about last chapter with the mystery Scout talking to Erwin at the end, this might not have been clear, but that Scout was Whitt Sopper (the guy passed-out drunk at their table). My thought was that he woke up during their conversation, heard Hannes asking about Eren, then pretended to still be unconscious to hear the rest of the conversation. So the end of last chapter actually took place before Hannes met with Hebe, and is about Whitt reporting his findings to Erwin. But if that wasn't clear at all, you can just pretend that it was Rikkin or Lanara or just a very committed Scout who managed to uncover Hannes' snooping. 
> 
> Last thing, I promise. Have you guys noticed how different characters swear by different terms? Like how Rikkin said “bricks and mortar”, Hange swore by Rose/”Sweet Rose and Maria!”, Erwin by Skies. I think it’s interesting how Mikasa, Dina, and a few of the more logical characters haven’t sworn by anything wall-related or even in general. (But I guess Dina’s could be “Really”!) I like the little details like that. If anyone has any suggestions of things the characters could swear by, just drop me a comment!


	10. What Dreams May Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms are next week, so the next chapter should be posted in a week or so. Sorry, guys. Updates should return to normal in a few weeks. 
> 
> Title is from “Hamlet”, and the two poems mentioned are “The Road Not Taken” and “Fire and Ice” both by Robert Frost. No ownership here, folks!
> 
> If anyone’s watched “Man of Steel”, there’s a moment in this chapter that really reminds me of a scene in that movie. If no one figures it out, I can hint at it in next chapter’s notes.

 

 

 

          Eren jerks awake, then promptly scowls at the ceiling. He knows what sleep is, had slept before he was a Titan, but he hasn’t _actually_ slept for almost a hundred years. Last night, he had lain down on his bed as he does every almost every night, staring up at the ceiling and practicing his words. And then the next thing he knew, he woke up, with no memory of falling asleep or of the sleeping itself. It’s strange; his hands are itching, his eyes are hot, and his skin feels strangely tight. Unease boils in his veins. What’s going to happen next; will he feel hungry? Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he rubs his eyes and feels tired – a curious sensation. He sighs. Today is going to be weird; he just knows it.

 

          Poking his head around his door reveals nothing amiss. Overcome by a bizarre feeling of impending disaster, he warily makes his way down the hallway; the house is strangely silent. Suddenly, a bang from the kitchen startles him into jumping. It’s just Carla, and she smiles when she sees him, but the smile is strangely tight and thin.

 

          “Good morning, Eren! Dina’s got a headache, so try to be quiet today, okay? I’m going to be taking care of her today, so I won’t be seeing you much. But try to be good, okay? Maybe read for a bit and I’ll quiz you about it in the evening?” She’s carrying towels and a bowl of gently steaming water, and after palming his cheek, she departs for Dina’s room.

 

          Not quite sure what to do with himself and full of an unspecified, vague sense of loss, he wanders around the house aimlessly, and ends up in front of the bookcase in the living room. A thin volume catches his eye – a slim book bound with blue leather and simple black ink. It’s a poetry book which he normally avoids like eating, but with today’s strangeness, he needs something to engage his mind fully. He sits on the floor and thumbs through it. A page catches his eye; the illustration is of a forest not unlike his own and two forking paths. Attracted to the familiarity of the forest, he reads the lines of the poem.

 

 

          Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

          And sorry I could not travel both

          And be one traveler, long I stood

          And looked down one as far as I could

          To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

          Then took the other, as just as fair,

          And having perhaps the better claim,

          Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

          Though as for that the passing there

          Had worn them about the same,

 

          And both that morning equally lay

          In leaves no step had trodden black.

          Oh, I kept the first for another day!

          Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

          I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

          I shall be telling this with a sigh

          Somewhere ages and ages hence:

          Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I—

          I took the one less traveled by,

          And that has made all the difference.

 

 

          The poem makes him restless and broody, and for some reason, and he can’t help but think of the Arlerts and the Grishams. Two paths and one traveler. He’s never been one for poetry – Dina’s the one who breathes it, so perhaps she could give him insight on the poem’s meaning and why it was making him so on edge. Knocking cautiously at her door, Carla is the one to answer. When he says that he wants to talk to Dina for a few minutes, she agrees to let him in while she goes to change out the towels. He enters.

 

          Dina is pale and waxy under the thin blankets piled on top of her. There are thick and rough sheets of cloth blocking almost all light from the room, save for a wan beam of sunlight that slants across the bed in a weakly golden river of dispersed illumination. But her eyes are open and fiendishly sharp under the film of pain. He sits, and she takes his hand – the one unoccupied by the book.

 

          “You know, if we were in a book, I’d say this is situational irony – the Mighty Dina laid low by her own prized possession: her brain.” He knows that she wouldn’t appreciate pity one bit, and would quite possibly try to injure him, which would not be good at all for her condition.

 

          “What do you want now, idiot?” Instead of an insult, her raspy voice is soft with affection.

 

          “I read this poem and I want to know what it means.” He holds out the book, already opened to the page.

 

          She squints at it in the near dark, then grins a little. “Ah, that’s one of my favorites. I’m glad you read it.”

 

          “Okay, but what is it talking about? All I can figure out is that there’s this guy walking in the woods and he goes down the wrong path.” He frowns down at the book in puzzlement.

 

          Her laugh is sudden and bright in the stillness of the room. “You’re being too literal. That poem’s about one’s choices in life. The traveler is at a crossroads in their life, and picks one of choices they could make. Both paths are equally worn, both are good in their own way, but they lead to different outcomes. And in the end, the traveler says that the path they took changed their life unavoidably; you can interpret the ending as happy or sad. Either the traveler regrets his decision, or he is content with it. Understand?”

 

          “But is the guy happy with his decision or not?” He’s not sure why the answer is so important to him, but he’s seized with this burning need to know.

 

          She scowls playfully, and backhands his arm with what feels like all the strength of a falling leaf. “Weren’t you listening? It depends on what the reader believes. If you think the traveler sounds like they are glad they took the road less traveled by, then it ends happily. If you think he regrets not taking the other road, then it ends in despair. Personally, I like the ending either way, but then again, I’ve always liked ambiguous poems that leave it to the reader to decide.” Eren’s left with a sense of betrayal, and a feeling that he is not quite in tune with the world.

 

          Dina continues happily. “There’s another poem in that collection by the same author that I also love. Here, I’ll find it for you.” He’s not sure he wants to decipher another poem, especially with the headache he got from the first, but he lets her wrest the book from his hands and flip through it. If it helps her, then he’ll go along for her sake.

 

          “Oh, here. I’ll read it for us.” She clears her throat and shifts around where she’s propped up by pillows, and then winks at him. “Don’t worry, it’s a short one.”

 

 

          Some say the world will end in fire,

          Some say in ice.

          From what I’ve tasted of desire,

          I hold with those who favor fire.

          But if it had to perish twice,

          I think I know enough of hate

          To say that for destruction ice

          Is also great

          And would suffice.

 

 

          Eren rolls his eyes and scowls at the bedspread. “Now what does _that_ one mean?”

 

          She smiles brightly – smugly, he thinks. “Well, it’s partly about the end of the world, and partly about the end of an individual’s world. On one hand, the narrator talks about the end of the world and which method of destruction would be better; fire or ice. But it can also mean how a person’s life can be destroyed, by the perils of too much passion or the chill of hatred. I always thought the poem was about love, and how either too much or too little love can destroy a person. Passion and hatred are double-edged swords. If you care too much for something, then your emotions might blind you or cause you to make stupid decisions. If you hate something too much, then it might do the same. So, in a way, one must walk the balance between fire and ice – passion and contempt.”

 

          He frowns and rubs at his temples. “My head hurts. Why did I want this again?”

 

          “Because my love of the written word is rubbing off on you!”

 

          “I’m sure.”

 

          They sit in silence for a few moments. Dina’s hands worry the end of her coverlets anxiously. She bits her lip, starts and stops several times, before squaring her shoulders and almost seeming to brace herself for something. “You’re happy here, right? Here with Momma and me, I mean.”

 

          He blinks at her question, uncomprehending for a second, then stares at her with the same expression he would look at meat. “Of course, I am. If I wasn’t, I would leave.” Sometimes, he really does think that humans are stupider than rocks.

 

          “Good, good.” Another awkward pause. “We’re happy that you’re here, too.”

 

          The silence is more companionable this time. But the silence is shattered a few seconds later when there’s a hubbub at the door. Eren tells Dina to stay there, and then goes to check it out. He walks down the hallway, then stops dead in his tracks. Carla is at the door, looking nervous and upset, but that’s not what makes him freeze.

 

          The Arlerts are there, all of them, in the Grisham’s house. Mikasa, when she sees him standing there, takes a few steps towards him, then also stops. She’s looking at him with such hope and relief. That breaks his shock, and he throws himself towards her. Then Armin shows up and wiggles between them. Then Agatha is there, and Errol, and Thaddeus. There’s tears, and he’s not sure whose they are. But it doesn’t matter, because he missed them all so much and they’re _here_ , and he’s making these happy yipping sounds like a puppy, but that doesn’t matter either, because they’re _here_! Armin’s face is smooshed into his chest, and Mikasa’s elbow digs painfully into his ribs, and it’s becoming too warm even for him, but he deals with it, _because they’re_ _here_! He’s so glad that his earlier anxiety turned out to be nothing at all!

 

          It takes a few minutes for all the hugging to stop, but when it does, the first thing he asks is, “How are you guys here? How did you get here? How did you know where I was? Were you guys okay without me?”

 

          There is a beat of pure shock at his ability to talk, then Agatha is beaming larger than he’s ever seen. “We have an old friend who is a guard at the Walls who managed to find out where you were and smuggled us in. And, yes, we were fine, although we had to mask our scents with skunk musk. Oh, it’s very nice to see you again; we were all so very worried about you, young man.”

 

          She starts hugging him again. Armin and Mikasa latch on, too, and he has to snicker at the fact that he’s still taller than everyone in the room even as a human. Still grinning, he looks around the room, and sees Carla watching them, with a strange expression on her face. He smiles at her, and for once, she doesn’t smile back. Eren thinks he might be able to guess why she’s acting this way. Humans are very stupid sometimes. Can’t she see that now with the Arlerts there, her family is expanding? Carla leaves, presumably to tell Dina of their visitors.

 

          “So, tell me, my boy; what happened after, um, well, after the Scouts, er, cut you out?” Errol asks, trying to saunter into the subject.

 

          Eren wiggles free of the embrace, and bounces up and down slightly. “Oh! Well, I was very confused at first, and it was hard figuring out if I was a human or Titan, and I couldn’t talk very well, but I met Hange and she took care of me on the way to the Walls. She’s a scientist and studies Titans, but she’s very nice and very crazy. And then I was sent here to live with Carla and Dina. I saved Dina when a cart fell on her, and they taught me how to speak and about human culture. And now you guys are here, so I have all my family in one place!” He doesn’t notice the glances that the adults exchange, or when the three of them gather and whisper together.

 

          “Who’s Dina?” Armin asks, curious as ever.

 

          “Oh, she’s my sister.” Mikasa frowns slightly, but Eren tugs at her scarf. “She’s grumpy and mean and cares a lot about people. She teaches me grammar and talking and poetry. I don’t like poetry. At least Carla teaches me other books, and stuff like how to garden and how to hygiene and how to behave in public. It’s nice to learn all this stuff because I can’t really remember a lot from when I was a human.”

 

          “I’m your sister.” Mikasa insists, snaking her arms around his middle stubbornly.

 

          “Yes. And Armin is my brother and Dina is my other sister.” Eren’s logic is foolproof. Then, he sniffs Armin’s head right below his chin, and the stink of skunk scalds his nasal passages. “Yuck! You guys stink! Didn’t you hygiene yet?”

 

          Armin giggles. “Yeah, but skunk spray is a natural deterrent to predators so it’s extra smelly and hard to get off.”

 

          Eren laughs. “Dina will like you. You two like books, and almost look the same.” He looks at Mikasa. “And Dina will like you because you’re both prickly. And I know Carla will like both of you because she likes all kids, even the rude, messy ones. Oh, you should meet them! You should meet them right now! But be quiet because Dina’s got a headache.” He grabs his siblings by the hand and leads them to Dina’s room.

 

          But Carla blocks the doorway and smiles at them. “Hello, uh, children. I’m sorry, but Dina doesn’t quite feel up to having guests at this moment. Eren, why don’t you go and gather some firewood since we’re going to be having some … guests. And why don’t your, uh, friends here stay with their parents to stop people from being suspicious.” Eren nods, too happy to protest, but Armin and Mikasa scowl. He ignores their possessiveness and bounds out of the door with a wave and a smile at Agatha, Errol, and Thaddeus.

 

          It’s a beautiful day outside, made only better by the fact that his families are together. He feels like he could lift a tree for each stick he picks up; he feels like if he put too much effort into a single footstep he could soar up to the top of the walls. In fact, he feels like his skin is stretching slightly, and that the happiness he can feel squirming in his gut is actually anxiety. Eren’s not sure why he would be suddenly feeling his unease from earlier return or why his body is straining to be a Titan. He tries to ignore it, and partially succeeds. But still, he hurries on the way back home. In the streets, no one seems to be worried or in danger, so he tries to relax.

 

          He’s about halfway home, when he discovers the reason for his body’s rebellion. At first, he wonders why everyone has gone silent. Then he turns, and sees why.

 

          There’s a hand on the walls – skinless, giant, muscle fibers showing in high detail. A Titan’s hand. A hand belonging to a Titan so tall it can peer over the edge of the walls.

 

          For a second, he allows himself to believe that this Titan is like him, and is just curious about humans, too. Then, his tenuous hope snaps like a strand of hair when a foot drives into the gate and smashes a hole into the oh-so delicate barrier separating humanity from its doom.

 

          Immediately, he speeds towards his home. _He needs to get his family away from the breach, needs to make them safe, needs to protect them_. But he doesn’t shift forms because it’s too dangerous – for him, for his family, for other humans, for his secrecy. But he desperately wants to, if only to get to his family faster. Crowds of people push against him, straining for safety, screaming for help. He’s wildly desperate, but grinds his teeth against the want to shift. But his progress is slow, slow, _too slow_.

 

          Finally, he rounds the corner of his street, and suddenly, shifting seems infinitely more tantalizing. There’s a Titan standing where their house used to be, and his family is running away, but he can tell they’re too slow. Armin and Mikasa are well ahead of the adults except for Carla, but Dina struggles in the back of the pack. He starts running towards them to do something, anything. The Titan notices its prey’s flight, and lumbers towards them, reaching out for the weak member of the herd; Dina, as a wounded deer is easy prey, she flags in her flight and falters. He runs harder, almost starting to shift, the Titan almost has her while Carla screams in horror, but then Agatha pushes Dina out of the way, and is grabbed instead.

 

          Time slows down to a ragged and tortured crawl. Agatha locks eyes with him – _hair falling out of place, face drawn in fear, but she’s never looked more resolute and steady, completely unapologetic_ – and something in his face must’ve shown his Titan clawing out of his skin, because she raises a hand. _Stop_. Even though he wants to howl to the sky, split open his skin, tear out the napes of every Titan still living; even though he wants to rip apart a mountain and bend the world to his will, he tamps down the Titan under his skin. Agatha smiles gratefully, then her eyes flicker to someone else and she mouths something, and then she is split in two – _and doesn’t that bring back memories, you monster_ – and disappears into the gullet of the Smiling Titan.

 

          Eren doesn’t fully remember what happens after that, just flashes and fragments of out-of-place memories.

 

 

He remembers Dina’s shocked and teary face as Agatha took her place.

 

He remembers Errol’s anguished bellow, a wordless cry of unbelieving, terrible grief. Then he remembers Thaddeus’ arms locked around his son, tugging him to safety even though he himself was crying; he knew that grief, knew the loss of a wife all too well.

 

He remembers Carla sweeping Dina into her arms and not letting go until they were on the boat, and Dina holding on just as tightly.

 

He remembers how Armin didn’t cry at all, just stood there until he fell limp and wordless to the ground. He had to carry Armin for as long as they ran.

 

He remembers a blond man wearing strange wires helping them to safety.

 

He remembers how Mikasa sank to her knees and cried more than everyone except for Errol. Her grief was almost shocking, except that it wasn’t at all, not really.

 

He remembers feeling all-consuming, dark, insanely powerful, festering anger – the kind of anger that could raze forests and boil seas – and clutching the side of the boat so hard that it splinters a little bit.

 

He remembers swearing to kill them all.

 

 

          He only snaps back to himself somewhat when he stares out at the mangled ruins of his city. Then, he’s filled with a bleak and bitter amusement.

 

          Originally, Atlas was created for one lone man’s desperate wish; “killing all the monsters”. But then Atlas had rebelled and twisted it to “kill all the humans”, until his mind wrested enough control back to change it to “protect all the humans”. Now, history’s proven that it repeats itself, and it’s almost enough to make him laugh at how he’s come a full circle. He had bitten his own father in two and then eaten him. That bastard Titan had torn his mother in two and eaten her. Nothing’s really changed except for the fact that he let it happen this time. He could have stopped the Titan, he could have fought it. So what if a little destruction happens; it would be worth his mother’s life. But she hadn’t thought so, and he trusted her.

 

          All of a sudden, his morbid glee leaves him, and Eren lurches back to his family – _he can’t even bring himself to look at Carla or Dina_ – and ignores Mikasa’s concern, opting to sit next to a heartbroken Errol. They sit in some strange mutual understanding, and when Errol begins to silently weep fresh tears, Eren is quick to follow. They don't ever touch, but they sit together until the boat rocks to a stop and they can no longer stay on the boat.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

Agatha remembers a dull thudding vibrating up from the ground, and for a fleeting second, believing it was Eren transformed for some silly reason. Then, came the screaming.

 

She remembers seeing the Titan and, for once, her composure failing her.

 

She remembers pushing Armin and Mikasa out the door, and then making sure Carla and her daughter were out as well.

 

She remembers looking back and thinking – _this is the true face of death, not a skull, not a jackal, but the grinning maw of a Titan_ – before she sees Carla’s daughter falling behind. And then her overwhelming thought is – _not a child, never a child, children should always have someone to care for them even at a time such as this_.

 

She remembers the way her one of her shoes slipped off her feet, and the destructive, absolute force of nature that was the anger in Eren’s eyes; she’d thought that he looked rather like if one angered the ocean and how wrong that rage looked on his gentle face.

 

She remembers whispering to her husband one last time. _I’m sorry_ , and _I love you_.

 

She remembers the girl, so much like Armin that it reminds her of all the children she wanted but never had, and is satisfied with her choice. She knows that her family is stronger than she ever was, and that they will be alright in the end. _One last adventure, old girl. Let’s make this one count_.

 

After that, well, it doesn’t really matter. It’s like what she always told her husband; _it doesn’t do to dwell on the past when one is unable to change it_. It always amused her how he would always remember the adage incorrectly and then bluster that he was right. He never did fully understand that the woman is always correct, especially one as distinguished and pragmatic as Agatha is -- _was_.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry … I really am. But I felt that, like in canon, Eren needed a mother figure to die. And before you ask why I didn’t pick Carla, consider that there was a deeper emotional attachment between Agatha and Eren that will cause him to undergo a more devastating and meaningful period of healing and growth. I’ve been trying to hint a little at her death for a while, like the story shifting more towards Carla instead of Agatha, her utter and complete devotion to the safety of all children, and last chapter’s title; the (Don’t), in my mind, represents a plea for them to not come home to Shiganshina, which facilitates her death. There might be a few more hints that I subconsciously slipped in there, but I don’t know. I also don’t know what the reception is going to be like for this. If everybody hates it, then I might change it around, but I doubt it. 
> 
> Gah. I made myself cry writing the ending. Sorry for the abrupt shift to death and angst, but I wanted there to be a bunch of shock factor to make it more emotional, and boy, did it work on me.


	11. Live by Love Though the Stars Walk Backward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's finally back! (But not in black, well, maybe mourning black ...) Anyway, updates will most likely be slowing down, but probably not as bad as the wait for this chapter was. But we'll see; maybe they won't have to slow down at all. 
> 
> Do you hear that sound? Shh, shh. Listen closely. That’s the sound of canon being loaded into an actual cannon and being fired very far away from me and this story. (This should’ve been included in the first chapter, but here you go anyway!)
> 
> There’s three references in this chapter. Les Misérables, the Little Match Girl, and Peter Pan. Gotta catch ‘em all! (Okay, now there’s four … )
> 
> The title is from the poem “dive for dreams” by E. E. Cummings. I think the meaning is self-explanatory. (Does this make it five?)
> 
> Bwahahaha! Here, have some more angst! Oh, you’re full? Too bad! (Sorry not sorry, but also kinda sorry).
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: Graphic swearing in this chapter. WARNING: Heavy angst and dealing with the aftermath of character death. WARNING: Mentions of miscarriage/stillborn infants.

 

 

 

          Hannes sits on the bench next to the Arlerts’ son, Armin – _almost grown up; it had shaken him down to the bones to realize that he was so old_. The boy is nestled in the arms of the black-haired girl; both are staring blankly ahead. _Poor kids_.

 

          He puts his head in between his knees and breathes in and out deeply, squeezing his eyes shut. Agatha is dead. He hadn’t seen her die, but if she isn’t with her family and is back in Shiganshina, then she’s dead by now. It just seems so impossible. When he was young and living on the streets with his parents, she’d caught him trying to steal her family’s valuables. Instead of turning him in, she’d given him the candlesticks and plates, and told him to bring his family there tomorrow for a meal and old clothing. She had taken care of him and his family when anyone else would’ve turned away or pretended not to see them. She had singlehandedly changed his life into something he could be semi-proud of. Out of everyone he knows, he would’ve thought she would be the last to die, that she would be too stubborn and no-nonsense that even Death itself would be cowed by her willpower. He’d never imagined that she would die like this, eaten by a Titan.

 

          Titans. _Goddamned fucking shit biscuits_. He’d never imagined this either. The damn fuckers were so much worse than anything even his paranoid imagination could come up with. And Titans had broken through Wall Maria. _Fucking shitty hell in a damn handbasket_. No one in the Garrison had been prepared for this. Most of the soldiers had fled when the wall broke, but a few had tried to defend the Northern gate. God, it was a slaughter. Both citizens and soldiers alike littering the rubble and filling a Titan’s belly. _This is it. Humanity’s done for. We’re slowly dying in a self-inflicted cage. All that’s going to be left on this Earth will be nothing but Titans._

 

          God, he’s so pathetic. He was a terrible soldier, drank far too much on the job and off it. He was such a douche to Hebe, loving her, running away, ruining her life. He couldn’t even save someone who was like a mother to him. And now, when Humanity needed him to fight, he’d chosen to save a family – to be selfish rather than selfless. This self-loathing is nothing new; he’s hated himself for almost as long as he can remember. He covers it up with false confidence and made-up nonchalance. And when people hate him, he shrugs it off with a laugh and a toast in the Walls’ honor, because he knows that no one could possibly hate him more than he hates himself – not even Hebe could ever match the level of disgust he feels for himself.

 

          A noise brings him out of his haze of self-contempt; Armin is crying softly next to him, held tightly by his sister. _Geez. Here I am feeling sorry for myself when this poor kid just lost his mother._ Great. Now he feels even worse. How can he call himself a soldier of Humanity when he couldn’t even try to prevent this boy’s suffering?

 

          But maybe he could prevent the kid’s future suffering? Wall Rose is where Hebe lives and has her center of operations, and he knows that she’ll be doing anything in her power to help out the refugee families; even though she pretends to be aloof and uncaring, she’s actually more caring than most. She would probably take in the Arlerts and the Grishams if he very nicely and very politely asked her to. It might cost him a literal arm and a leg, but it would be worth it. Maybe then he could ask to be transferred to the Scout Regiment and actually try to do something with his life.

 

          Ah, who’s he kidding? He’d make a shit Scout if he keeps almost wetting himself every time he sees a Titan. So maybe not that. Less booze? Perish the thought.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Hebe tugs a little at her “borrowed” charity worker cloak, adjusts her expression to reflect a somber pity, then rounds the corner of the square. It’s so much worse that she’d expected; men with limbs torn off gibbering to anyone close by, grandparents wailing at the sky, children crying or staring at nothing. She definitely doesn’t think about if Hannes is one of the survivors or one of the dead, and she most especially doesn’t think about which answer she prefers. Masking her reflexive shock at the overpowering desolation, she motions to her men to start bringing in supplies to hand out.

 

          Now, in her line of work, one gets around a little. She’s done pretty much everything during her stint as one of the biggest crime bosses behind the Walls – thievery, murder, prostitution rings, drug cartels, nightclubs, sex shops, and even a tattoo parlor; you name it she’s done it. But never before has she seen anything like the utterly broken expressions and blank eyes of these refugees. Most of them are trembling, weeping, but a select few are as silent and still as the Walls themselves, and it is them who she finds herself giving extra blankets and rations to.

 

          A priest throws himself at her feet and blesses her for her generosity, praising the Walls that someone like her exists. A young boy spits at her and declares that he doesn’t want her charity. A woman says nothing, not even reacting when Hebe gives her daughter a flower. A teenager babbles nonsense at her as she bandages their stump of a leg. A man tries to slap her for daring to show pity, then collapses into a sobbing heap.

 

          Hebe wishes she could do more for these people, knows that blankets and bread are nothing compared to anguish and grief. But she knows that nothing would really help them, nothing except necromancy and the extermination of all Titans, and frankly, both of those are out of her considerable sphere of influence.

 

 

          _(And when she hears the news about the refugees less than a week later, her public reaction is to: destroy a wall, threaten to shoot the messenger, and call the king every name she can think of including “son of a two-bit, whoring bitch” and “that mangy, cunt-ish excuse for dogshit”. Her private reaction is to: curse Hannes for influencing her to swear, cleaning up the mess she made in her office, and trying very, very, very hard not to cry.)_

 

 

          Her men have finished handing out supplies to almost the entire square, so she makes a final check, and sees a group of eight people hidden in a small recess by the columns of an old storehouse. As she draws closer, she recognizes four of the people right away; one quite unfortunately gets up and walks towards her.

 

          She throws a blanket in his face in way of greeting. “Figures you’d survive, you wretched layabout.”

 

          “I knew you’d be glad to see me. Didn’t think I’d be brave enough to try and fight a Titan, did you?” She hates the way he smiles roguishly at her as if nothing is wrong. Of course, she also hates _him_ , but that’s nothing new. He shrugs away her glare with easy practice. “And you’re breaking the terms of our agreement about the boy; you said you’d never talk to me again, but here you are. Couldn’t get enough of ol’ Hannes, could you?”

 

          Every inch of her hard-won self-control stands up in rage like the little hairs at the back of a neck. Before she does something she might regret later, (or not regret, who knows?), she spins on her heel like a blade in flight. He catches her arm. _How dare he touch her! How dare he touch her after what he did!_ She glares at him, but he doesn’t let go.

 

          “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. But, please, hear me out. You don’t even have to talk.”

 

          Of course, she could always move his hand forcibly from her person.

 

          “Look, it’s not for me. Not completely.”

 

          Or, she could remove his hand from his body with a knife. Messier, though. But more satisfying.

 

          “Those two refugee families behind us? Those are the Grishams and the Arlerts, or at least what’s left of them. Agatha died after the breach.”

 

          She could also signal one of her men and they’d break his arm for her.

 

          “All I’m asking for is a place for them to stay. I don’t want them out on the streets after just seeing the Wall broken and their wife and mother eaten in front of them. You know what the streets are like, so do I, and you know what will happen to them out there. Please, Madam Nephele. If you do this, I swear I’ll walk right back into Wall Maria if you want.”

 

          Now _that_ gains her attention. No ‘Heebie-Jeebie’. No self-serving. No joking. If she didn’t know better, didn’t know _him_ better, she’d say that he really would. And there is the issue of the families to consider. She really does want to help them, but she doesn’t really want to help _him_.

 

          As a test, she asks him to make an oath on the most binding thing she can think of and looks him straight in his painfully familiar eyes. “Swear to me. Swear to me on the grave of our stillborn daughter that I will not do this for you, that you will finally leave me in _peace_ unless I choose otherwise. If you swear, I will make sure they are cared for.” Miraculously, her voice doesn’t tremble but he seems to know of her inner turmoil, that blasted man.

 

          He swears.

 

          Damn him. Damn him for making her resort to such measures. Damn him for playing on her charity. Damn him for making her fall in love with him. Damn him for leaving her. Just, just … _damn him_. And _damn_ his warm, gold, filled-with-empathy-and-pain eyes. And damn _her_ for agreeing to this damn deal. _Fuck. Shit-fucking damnit._

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Armin’s not quite sure where they are. He doesn’t really remember much after … _his mother_ … besides being carried by Eren and Mikasa’s warmth surrounding him. He does remember that dark-haired lady talking to Hannes and then being escorted to wherever they are now. Judging by the height of the ceiling and by the type of doors, they’re in an old warehouse. It’s hard to believe that there could be such a building sitting unused, but he suspects that the people living there have a cover story in place. After all, most of the inhabitants here are under the jurisdiction of that dark-haired lady, Hebe, so he figures that they’re used to illegal operations.

 

          The whole building is sectioned off into living quarters, headquarters, and entertainment space. The living quarters are carved into the stone walls and accessed by metal scaffold-type structures – he doesn’t think about the structural integrity too much. The headquarters are mainly offices that are tucked away in the back of the warehouse, and consist of rooms made with average-sized wood or metal walls. The rest of the open space is varied in its setup – a portion is dedicated to weapons and training, another portion seems to be a small market filled almost certainly with illegal goods, but the rest is a mish-mash of structures with no discernible meaning. The warehouse is very large, and Armin, from his perch on the scaffold outside his room, can look down on everything happening inside. He’d looked around his new room; it was a plain dirty white color with a bed, a lamp, and not much else, so he’d come out here to watch the busy swarms of people.

 

          Mikasa, having inspected her room to her satisfaction, joins him. One of the metal bars is the perfect height to rest her arms on, so she does, kicking a leg out into the air every so often. Armin ignores her. He’s dealing in his own way, so what if he’s retreating to hunting down every scrap of knowledge he can? It’s just prudent to find out everything he can about their new home and the people living in it. And why does it matter that his chest feels so cold that it could break apart into daggers?

 

          Mikasa shifts slightly, and he knows she’s about to talk to him. “Grief is okay, Armin. Just don’t be so cold about it. We’re all feeling the same way.”

 

          The leaden chill suddenly gains spires sharp with ice, and winter howls in his veins. “I can’t imagine you’d know what I’m feeling. She wasn’t _your_ mother, she was _mine_. And I can be as cold as I want to be.” The bitter snow gains a sense of savage satisfaction, and he smiles with the wintry wind of it.

 

          She pales to the same shade as the wall behind her, and her eyes sparkle like moonlight glinting off an icy lake. He feels vindicated with the frost.

 

          Her icy frigidness buffets his winter with unwanted guilt. “No, she was not my mother, but she wanted me to be her daughter. And you forget how I came to be living with you. I know the cold wastelands that you’re feeling better than _you_ do, dear brother. I’ve walked them and let my blood mingle with their blood, let myself be numbed and dulled in their relentless embrace. It took Eren to melt my icecaps and to lead me out of that place. And now I see their claim on you like frostbite, and I would help you to see the sun.”

 

          He laughs bitterly, gritty snow pooling in his mouth. “Don’t try to be a poet, _dear sister_ ; it doesn’t suit you very well. Besides, I feel very toasty right about now. The only chill I feel is from you, _Snow Queen_.” Icicles forged to target weakness, that's what he is now, words biting without discrimination or loyalty. 

 

          She’s still sitting there, and it makes Armin want to shove her off the scaffolding. Unmoved, she taps out a rhythm with her fingernail. “If she heard you talking to me like this, she would shake you until she knocked some sense loose. And then she would hit you upside the head until you stopped acting like a selfish and hurt cat. And then she would make you run laps for not grieving healthily. And then she would make you tea.”

 

          The ice splinters a little, shards tearing cruelly at his insides. “But she’s _not_ here. She’ll never be here again. Instead, she chose that blonde brat over us!” _Over me ..._

 

          Mikasa’s mouth thins into a straight line. “You know that children were the most important thing to her. She had a choice, and you’re trying to make it like she shouldn’t have had a choice in the first place. That’s not love, that’s control. And if you can’t tell the difference anymore, then maybe you don’t understand what love really is. She knew what love is, and was able to love everyone with so much strength that she could give her life for love. If you were in Dina’s place, I don’t doubt that she would’ve acted the same. I don’t like her decision, but I love her enough to not dishonor her choice. Do _you_ love her enough, Armin? Because right now you’re acting like you don’t.”

 

          She leaves in a rush of winter air. Armin is left shuddering with cracks below the surface of his skin and glaciers melting in his brain.

 

          (He never apologizes, but later, when he sneaks into her room and scuttles into the warm haven of her blankets, she wraps her arms around him and the ice leaks out of him in the form of tears; and after the winter is gone from his veins, he feels a semblance of warmth curling in his chest.)

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Errol sits blindly in the dark recesses of his room with only the weak illumination seeping beneath the door to light the walls. The light from the lamp had been distasteful to his eyes, so he had turned it off. He hadn’t deserved light when she would never see again. He doesn’t need light to see the memories playing out in front of his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

          He had been trying his luck as an inventor at the time, believing that a dream could support life. He had lived above a bakery, and the old woman who ran it would sometimes let him eat there for free. It was at that bakery that he had first laid eyes on her, the woman who would be his Agatha. She was working at the bakery, even though her scowl had told him what she thought of sugar. When asked his name and order, for the first time in his life, he had been painfully aware of his oil-soaked clothes, charcoal-stained fingers, and untidy hair. He’d never been one for matters of love, he’d preferred turning book pages to caressing hair, and science to interpersonal chemistry. But something about the way she stood or perhaps did her hair called to him. Of course, he’d immediately stuck his foot in his mouth and asked to court her. She immediately turned him down and gave him an earful.

 

          He’d tried again every day for two months until she told him that she wouldn’t consider allowing him to court her until he got his life together. He hadn’t known what she’d meant until he returned to his apartment, seen all the bills littered around his table, looked at the sink full of unwashed dishes, and smelled himself. So he apprenticed himself to a tailor, paid off his bills, and made inventing a hobby instead of a career. And so, three months after he first saw her, Agatha Darling had allowed Errol Arlert to court her. It was a long courtship, three years of slowly learning more about each other. He had learned that she couldn’t stand opera, liked stiff chairs because they were better for her back, and that she was totally and unavoidably the one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

 

          During their courtship, one instance particularly cemented his devotion to her. She had allowed him to link elbows with her for the first time, and he’d been over the moon. It was a chilly night in early December, but her eyes had shined with warmth as they walked to an improvisational theatre production. Her gaze was then pulled to a dark and forbidding alleyway where a small child, barefoot and dressed in rags, too dirty and thin to determine a gender, shivered next to the exhaust vent of a restaurant. The child was coughing while breathing in the smoke, but destroyed lungs were better than freezing to death. He had pitied the poor child, but hadn’t thought to stop for longer than a second. But Agatha, she had bustled over to the child and gave them her scarf, all her money, and instructions to buy clothes that wouldn’t draw attention like her fine ones would.

 

 

 

 

 

          Errol supposes that Agatha always did love children more than anything else. The thought makes him laugh bitterly as agony rends his heart in pieces. She never could resist helping a child, and now she was dead because of it. If he could go back in time, he would shake his younger self and tell him not to lose his heart to a selfish, selfless woman who would one day choose an unknown child over him. The worst part is that he can’t blame her for dying, because he knows that she was happy with her decision. Or is the worst part that he had left her for months to wait for the damned letter because he was too ashamed to face her? No, he knows the worst part is how she had apologized and loved him before her death, even though it was _his fault_ – he let Eren be captured by the Scouts, and because of that, they’d gone back to Shiganshina. The enormity of his failure crushes him like the fist of God.

 

          He doesn’t notice the door opening or closing, but he does notice the arms that circle his chest and the warm weight settling into his side. Tears wet into his shoulder as his son cries. Errol is frozen. This is Agatha’s child, their child, and he needs his father right now.

 

          Errol weeps as he strokes his son’s hair. If Agatha saw his self-pitying behavior, she would’ve pinched his ear and slapped it out of him. He needs to be strong for his son who now doesn’t have a mother to be the strong one. All his son has is a weak, useless Errol who doesn’t know who he is in the wake of losing his better half. But for Agatha, he would take care of her children. What was it she always said? It doesn’t do to dwell on what could have been when one’s future is at stake? No, no, he always remembered it wrongly. See, this is why he needs her, he’s lost without her. She is the rooted tree to his dreamy cloud, but now his tether has snapped and he’s left to drift along the currents in the sky. But for her, he would find a way to land and rejoin the earth.

 

          With all the hollowness of sand dunes shifting in the desert wind, he remembers what he never could; _it doesn’t do to dwell on the past when one is unable to change it_. His laugh is a broken, coarse thing, but it is there, and it makes his son smile.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannes swearing is now one of my favorite things, for some reason. (I think he’s the only person who could out-swear Levi). If anyone can come up with more expressions (i.e. hell in a handbasket, shit-biscuits, etc.) that I can use for him or Levi, it would be much appreciated. 
> 
> If you noticed, Hannes is the only character to mention God so far. For this fic, I think of him as having been raised Christian, but having turned from the faith at some point in his life either because he loved booze too much, or because of his daughter dying, or some other reason entirely. Maybe I’ll explore this if/when I write the spinoff. 
> 
> And more Greek mythology! Hebe’s last name, Nephele, is the Greek goddess of hospitality, which I figured was appropriate. I view her as having some Greek heritage as well. 
> 
> So, for chronology in this chapter, the scene with Armin is in the first day of their new life, but he makes up with Mikasa either the same day or a few days after. The scene with Errol is sometime after Armin makes up with Mikasa. I know this was probably confusing, but it was meant to be (I thought it would represent the effects of grieving on them). And we'll get to Eren next chapter, don't you worry!


	12. just prayin' to a god that i don't believe in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: LONG-ASS AUTHOR’S NOTE. CARRY ON. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter is a little late, guys. Midterms were a thing that just happened, and then my Grandma and her long-term boyfriend visited from South Carolina, and then I was trying to figure out where I want this fic to go (which I failed horribly and miserably at …), but at least this chapter has an element of comedy to it (at least I think so) to help alleviate all the angst hanging in the air like a contagious disease. 
> 
> Also, it’s come to my attention that I haven’t thanked you guys in a while. So, great, big, messy thank-you’s to everyone who has taken the time to comment and kudos and bookmark! It seriously makes my day better when I read a heartfelt review or see the little counters go up. (And I know you’re out there too, all those people who lurk about, reading my story and not giving me your feedback. Seriously, even if you hate this work, tell me so. I’m a big girl, so I can handle a little constructive criticism or a few flames.) Wow, I get off track a lot. Anyway, I love you all and pleasepleaseplease keep it up! I’m a poor college student whose only source of nutrition is heating your comments over a campfire like a can of beans. 
> 
>  
> 
> ATTENTION! You guys might want to reread the last section of Chapter 2 before/after reading this chapter if you don’t remember what I talk about in the second section part. Of course, you might want to reread Ch.2 after you’ve finished reading just to gather all the symbolism going on – or maybe because my writing’s just that good *hah, hah*. (I suggest going back to Chapter 2 after finishing the second part of this chapter, then taking a moment to control the urge to cry, then finishing the chapter, then giving into the urge to cry.)

 

 

 

          Bells. Eren hears bells. Morning, afternoon, evening, what seems like every minute of every hour. _Ring-a-dong-ling-a-ring-ding-a-ting-tong._ They sound like church bells. He hates them. They take away the memory of her voice, snippet of a word here, inflection on a syllable there. Sometimes, they are all he can hear.

 

          He ignores the bells. They crescendo into a frenzy of thievery. He tries to block them out with his fingers. They mock him with their silvery, gruff, sonorous, tinkling tones.

 

 

          _Ding-dong the witch is dead!_

shut up

          _For whom do you think the bell tolls? For whom do you think the bell calls? For whom didst thou sound the death knell, Eren? Weak, **human** , slow Eren with no Atlas to guide him. _

Shut Up

          _Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, to the throbbing of the bells, to the sobbing of the bells, to the moaning and the groaning of the bells, keeping time, time, time._

SHUT UP

 

 

          There is merciful silence. A breath, two, wrenched out and shuddering out of his chest. Then, he hears the bells, and silence presses in on him from all sides. He is struck deaf, and yet the bells are there. He learns to appreciate their song.

          _Ding-a-ring-ting-a-tong. Ding-a-dong-ring-a-gong-wrong._

_La-de-dum-rum-de-rol-fol. Dol-de-ra-la-de-dum._

 

_Ha, ha, ha._

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          Cold is an odd sensation. First, there is a slight burning like the rough scratch of coarse hair. Second, there is an odd tingling like champagne bubbles or spider feet. Then, there is an awful, spreading numbness like the dawn’s rosy-fingered opposite. Cold is strange, because it can feel as hot as fire, or it can feel like nothing at all.

 

          In some detached corner of Eren’s brain, he wonders if he is shivering because of the cold or because of the warmth. But he is a Titan. Titans don’t feel cold or warm. _(Titans aren’t supposed to feel love, they aren’t for the softer things – he wasn’t made for the softer things, he was a fool to think otherwise)._ But that illogical, dispassionate fragment of himself is swamped by the sheer mass of his hysteria and welling emotions too loud to be named.

 

 

          A part of him is listening to the bells. _Yes, hush now, my child. Listen to mother – she’ll play you a song. Listen along – it won’t take long! Mother knows best, you know. You’re her child now, you know._

 

          A part of him is snarling. _Look at what you did. You let her die. You’re just useless, Titan scum. Do you think they’ll want to be around her murderer? Why weren’t you faster? Why didn’t you do anything? You were weak, that’s why. You’re not even a Titan. If you were, you could’ve protected her, you pathetic hybrid!_

 

          A part of him is laughing. _It’s just so ironic! You ate your own father, and now you let your new mother be eaten. You were supposed to end the war! Now you say you want to protect the humans – after killing your father and your new mother? We really can’t do anything right, can we? It’s so funny. It’s just so funny! Can’t you see me laughing?_

 

          A part of him is keening. _She’s dead! She’s dead, she’s dead, she’sdead she’sdead deaddeaddead. I was her son, her family, I was supposed to protect her. She loved me, and now she’s gone. I’m scared, I’m so scared. Help me, mother, mother, I need you, need, need, needneed. Oh, stars, no, nono, why? Why, father? Why, mother? Why father? Why mother?_

_(why me … ?)_

 

 

          All at once, the room is too … too cold, too hot, too close … too _much_ , and he bursts through the door in a flurry of flailing limbs before he realizes he’s moving. He’s fast, but noisy, all grace having fled – _like the way her blood was far too eager to abandon her body in red trails of unjustified refugees_. Hands grasp at his limbs while words try to burrow into his ears like malignantly introduced snakes. He refuses to stop, to listen, and it is only a matter of a few minutes (that feel like stretched eternities) before he is on the roof.

 

          His hands are bleeding from the rough climb up, not that he notices -- _it's surprisingly red; he'd thought his blood would betray him_. The roof is semi-flat, full of dips and slight angles and old refuse and small chimneys. He would go farther, would escape the walls and retreat to greenness and solitude where he could scream and destroy and rip out the skies, but he ~~won’t~~ can’t. His skin is impossibly tight, tight enough that he half-thinks that if he moves he’ll split apart at the seams. His hands itch, particularly his palms, like when he had accidentally kicked over an anthill as a boy and his feet had been swarmed. His eyes itch also, or rather, burn. His throat burns also, and his stomach churns warily.

 

          He feels almost entirely human.

          Or does he feel more like the Titan he’d been before he ate his father?

 

          He’s shaking – _not from the cold or warmth, damnit, because Titans don’t feel_ – so he sits down with his back resting on the rough brick of a chimney. It’s summer, so none of the chimneys are in use, leaving him with a fair view of the sky. Apparently, it’s also nighttime. The stars look different to him. Where he once saw the Huntress and all the other made-up characters, he now sees unconnected stars and blank, yawning voids.

 

          The Mother of Monsters is still there, though, still benevolently looking down on her children of fortune and choice. Eren shudders violently under her frank gaze, limbs jerking spastically, as a memory thunders down on him – the memory of when he’d looked at the stars as a Titan after the Arlerts crashed into his forest. He’d just moved them into the village, and made a new nest for himself. It had been the night he actually met Armin for the first time. Stars, he’d been so full of hope and excitement for the future.

 

          He tastes bile at the back of his throat; he chokes with bitterness, he suffocates on tears.

 

          The Mother of Monsters gazes down at him; her hands usually outstretched in kindness seem to be drawing away from him. He is wracked with great shuddering, gulping breaths, and he pleads in his mind for her return. But she is nothing but cold, impassive pinpricks of light in the sky; she can offer him nothing, and yet she is everything to him in that moment. _Mother. My Mother – the only one still left to me. Are you her, Mother, are you what’s left of her?_

 

          He tastes cool starlight on his lips, inhales it with every breath; it frosts his eyes with light, mischievous hands. Strange, there’s a ringing in his head. It sounds like the bells. No, no, it is Mother, her voice. Like silvery bells it is, tinkling purely and borne by the wind. He listens.

 

          He’s not sure if he cries. He’s not sure if the howling he hears is just the wind, or his mind tearing itself apart, or a hunting pack of animals. He’s not sure how many times night turns into day or day turns to night. He’s not sure how many times his arms tremble and drop in fatigue from raising his arms in supplication to the monstrous mother in the sky for some sign of forgiveness, for just a simple touch of her hand.

 

          But he doesn’t need to know the quantification of his pilgrimage. And a pilgrim he is, afflicted with the utmost devotion to his Lady Mother, trembling with the might of his deliciously inexorable, inescapable, crushing answer to her question of obedience.

 

          For Her – _but not really for his **mother** , now is it?_ – he will sit underneath the hem of her moon-hewn robes. For her passing whim, he will offer himself. She is – _Star-Mother, the goddess of night, She-Who-Cups-The-Moon-In-Her-Hands, silent protector of children, the guardian of both dusk and dawn_ – the only remnant he as left of her, and he will never leave her side again.

 

 

______________________________

 

 

          When Mikasa had heard the commotion outside her rooms and had seen Eren fighting to get away, she hadn’t thought much of it. She’d thought that he just needed some time alone and would come back by morning. But it’s a day later, and she had to ask Hebe to find out where he was.

 

          So here she is, clinging for dear life to a chimney and desperately trying not to look down, when she should be eating breakfast with her family. She edges around her chimney, glances at the lip of the roof some five yards behind her, and carefully picks her way farther in. The place is shamefully dirty; soot is caked onto the roof tiles and detritus litters where it’s caught on rough edges or shallow dips. If Hebe hadn’t assured her the roof wouldn’t cave in, and if Eren wasn’t up here, Mikasa would’ve been very happy to never step foot in this place.

 

          She glares mistrustfully at where a portion of the roof looks to be eaten away, and skirts around it warily. So taken with the potential dangers around her, that she almost trips over Eren. But she manages to twist her body in a way that saves her from falling and, ugh, touching the roof. At first, she thinks he’s just sulking, so she waves her hand in front of his vacant eyes, but when he doesn’t so much as blink, she frowns. Calling his name does nothing, and touching his arm yields no reaction.

 

          She crouches in front of him, not bothering to keep her coat-ends off the tiles because Eren’s far more important right now. Even now, when she forces his line if vision to be entirely of her, his eyes are blank of any recognition or thought. She looks closer at his face for any hint of a reason for his behavior, and notices his lips moving slightly.

 

          Suddenly grateful for Armin’s sometimes inaudible speaking voice, she’s able to decipher Eren's mumbling. “Lady Moonlight, mother of creation, may you shine down and bless your follower. May your arms be ever open and your head ever crowned with glory. Night-Mother, giver and taker of life, cleanse me with your light and give me your purpose to hold. By the Morning Star, let me, your child, serve you as I have failed before; I will be strong, Mother, with your stars to guide me.” Okay. Slightly less grateful now. 

 

          This is troubling. She has no idea what Eren is babbling about, but it sounds like a prayer. Night-Mother, mother of creation, Lady Moonlight? This could be worse than she thought. Mikasa plays with the scarf around her neck thoughtfully. _Her scarf_. Maybe he would recognize it? After all, he gave it to her, and even now, it’s her most prized possession and her constant companion that reminds her of strength. Perhaps it could give Eren strength now. 

 

          It’s no use. She twines it around his hand in place of his thumb, then around his neck for good measure. He doesn’t even twitch. Surprisingly, a block of hurt rises in her chest before she quashes it ruthlessly. Now is not a time for self-pity. Eren needs help.

 

          Determined, she rises to her feet and walks with purpose – and perhaps a hint of nervousness – to the ladder a few nice craftsmen let her borrow. After the harrowing journey there and the heart-pounding climb down, she ignores her fluttering pulse and twitching fingers, and hunts down some help. She tracks down her brother after breakfast when, like always, he goes to look at the communal library. Ignoring his outraged squawk as she shoves him into an unused corner between two bookshelves, she tells him about Eren’s condition.

 

          “What do you mean he’s non-responsive?”

 

          Mikasa has to fight the urge to roll her eyes at her brother’s stupidity. “I mean what I say. He didn’t recognize me, didn’t even seem to see me, and kept whispering about mothers and astronomy.” She frowns and touches her scarf lightly.

 

          “This worries me. I’m not sure if he’s in touch with reality anymore. We need to find a way to get through to him.” Armin stands straighter and assumes an authoritative stance, something he never notices he does.

 

          Her frown deepens. “I don’t know what could get him out of it, though. If he doesn’t recognize me or my scarf, then what will he recognize?”

 

          Armin stares at her like she’s stupid – another thing he never notices he does. “It’s not a matter of what or who, it’s a matter of when. If he’s talking about the moon and stars, then why not try again at night? He might be more aware and less prone to introspection. If that fails, then we can think of something else.”

 

          “Oh.” Now she feels as stupid as Armin’s face thought her. “Yeah. I’ll do that. Good idea.”

 

          He smirks at her, drops suddenly to the ground, folds his legs underneath him, and primly opens the cover of the book he managed to grab before _she_ grabbed _him_. It feels just like it had before Shiganshina, which is enough to take the sting out of her wounded pride. Having hours to kill before nightfall, she allows herself sink to the floor, ignoring the perfectly serviceable chairs nearby in favor of the floor, and rests her head on her brother's shoulder. The book is a dusty tome about geography that she vaguely remembers seeing in Eren's nest before it was gifted to Grand-papa.

 

          And when she demands that he flip the pages faster -- _because of course she can read faster than him_ \-- he lectures her about how it's better to take time to really understand the text, rather than speeding through it like a charging bull. She responds by saying that he just wants to look at the pictures, which makes him blush and swat her arm. It feels more like home than she's felt in a while. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, Eren’s a bit crazy in the aftermath of Agatha’s death. Just a lil’ bit, a smidge, an incremental amount, really. The bells (and the warehouse) are inspired by Episode 2 of the anime, and are partly real (i.e. part of his surroundings) but his mind is twisting the environment around him. The things the bells say to him are not mine, and are inspired by the Wizard of Oz, Ernest Hemingway, and Edgar Allan Poe. If any part of the bells or the Mother of Monsters is unclear, don’t hesitate to contact me and I will try to clear it up. 
> 
> Also, if Mikasa seems to be a little OOC even for this story, then just a friendly reminder that she's, like, ten freaking years old (I think) when Wall Maria fell. And even though she's been through so much and doesn't want to act like a one, she's still a kid. Now let me go scream into a pillow about the unfairness of canon. 
> 
> Fun things you might have missed: I made Mikasa afraid of heights and a little bit of a clean freak. I mean, she is an Ackerman, after all! And the title is a line from “Breakeven” by the Script.


	13. The Neon God He Made

 

 

 

          Armin wipes his hands nervously on his pants. His nerves stem more from Eren’s potential irreversible mental instability than from the height, unlike Mikasa. His sister’s quite bizarre – terrified of being on the roof and yet utterly unshakable in her faith in their brother’s return to health; she shifts restlessly where she stands next to a chimney while her face betrays nothing but confidence. He wishes he could be more like her. Truth be told, he had pulled the idea of Eren being better at night out of his hat, but it gave Mikasa hope, which gave him hope. But now it’s time to put his cobbled theory to the test; the moon is a silver sliver above their heads. As planned, they both hide behind a chimney and watch Eren. It’s just like an experiment. Like a scientist, he watches the subject’s reaction.

 

          For a while, the subject remains silent and motionless. But when the moon reaches its zenith, the subject suddenly stands up. The wide and relieved grin on the subject’s face is unnerving, as is the way the subject twirls around in a mockery of a waltz. The scientist almost gives away his position when he moves forward to help when the subject starts walking on the gutter around the building like a wolf testing the edges of its territory. The subject dances on the gutter and on the tops of chimneys, twirling in fierce abandon like a native around a fire, uncaring if they fall into the fire or not. The subject is making noises; grunts, growls, howls, and breaks into the occasional hymn towards the great Wind-Walker, Planet-Healer, Sky-Mother, Lady of the First Star. The scientist feels unease shiver down his spine. Motioning to the other scientist to approach, they walk towards the subject carefully, who doesn’t notice them until they stand in front of the chimney on which the subject is perched.

 

          The subject favors them with a smile. “Armin. Mikasa. Brother. Sister.”

 

          The scientists share a glance. “Yes, Eren. It’s us. We’re worried about you.” The other scientist attempts a smile back and rests a hand on the subject’s.

 

          The subject’s smile widens beatifically. “There’s no need to worry, now. You’re here, and Mother will welcome you, too, into her arms!”

 

          The scientist coughs slightly. “Who is this mother?”

 

          The subject sighs and flops onto the ground dramatically. “She is the Mother of Monsters, the wife to the Golden Purificator whose domain is the Earth and the day. She is of the stars, yet holds their power. She watches from her place in the sky over all her children; the wind, the trees, the humans, the Titans. She is all mothers and the mother of all. Star-Tamer, Wind-Warrior, Night-Rider, Moon-Leader, Life-Maker. She is the dawn and the dusk, the first star and the last star, the morning star and the evening star, the ending and the beginning. She is my goddess, my light, my guide, my mother. I am her child now that she is dead, and I will stay with her until she dies as well. I am entirely hers.”

 

          The scientist is extremely worried now. “Eren, you know you’re talking about a constellation, right? The one you told us about when we were children? She isn’t our mother, and she’s certainly not a goddess.”

 

          The subject climbs the chimney, looking down at them like a cat would, and sighs as if they are the stupid ones. “Mother is Mother. She is here now. She is there now. She is gone and still with me. Why do you refuse our mother? She’s waiting for us. Don’t tell me you don’t love Mother?”

 

          The other scientist scowls heavily. “Eren, shut up. That _thing_ isn’t our mother. Our mother’s name was Agatha and she’s dead. She’s not a star, and she definitely wouldn’t want you clinging so hard to your grief that you think she is! You’re making yourself sick, Eren. Can’t you see that?” _Uh-oh_ , the scientist thinks.

 

          The subject’s smile drops, and is replaced with an ugly sneer. The subject’s voice turns from praising to bitingly singsong. “Mikasa, Mikasa. So soon to forget our mother, so soon to turn from her. Did you grieve? Did you even cry? Is this just to prove you don’t need a mother, don’t need anyone because you’re so brave and strong and independent?”

 

          The other scientist draws inward, and suddenly it’s just Mikasa. Mikasa, and Armin, and Eren, all still grieving. Armin, sensing a confrontation, retreats a few steps to let his sister work. Mikasa looks up at the snarling face of their brother and snarls right on back. “I grieved! But I knew she wouldn’t want me to become consumed by my grief. I knew that she would want me to be strong and to not destroy myself with nostalgia. What you’re doing now, Eren, is exactly what she didn’t want us to do. We need to be together, a family, strong and united. She deserves nothing less to honor her.”

 

          Eren hunches down in his crouch, almost flattening to the top of the chimney much like an animal protecting its soft underbelly. His head shakes once, twice, three times, and his voice becomes a soft and plaintive mumble. “No, no, no. I _need_ her. You don’t understand.” Then, his head whips towards Mikasa and the anger is back again. “ _No!_  You don’t understand! You’ve always had a mother! I had to give mine up, wh-when I …” Silence. Then, quietly, “I was alone for so long. I thought I didn’t mind it, really, and then suddenly I had humans I cared about a-and they cared about me too. I had a mother and a brother and a sister and a family, and I-I wasn’t alone anymore. And then I found a new family, and I thought that we all could be one bigger family and that I had a home.”

 

          Eren’s crying now, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. “I was made, you know, and I made myself a protector after, after … m-my father. I was supposed to protect all of you. I was supposed to protect h-her. I don’t know why I didn’t. I should’ve s-saved her, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. You don’t understand …”

 

          Armin feels very much like an awkward bystander when Mikasa climbs right up the chimney and balances next to Eren.

 

          Mikasa leans into her brother and rests her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if I ever told you the full story of how I came to live with you all. It was just another day – my mother was sewing me a new dress and father was cooking dinner. There was a knock on the door, and my father went to answer. He was dead and on the floor before my mother or I knew something was wrong. I saw his blood splash on the window. My mother told me to run, grabbed a kitchen knife, and ran towards the intruders. I couldn’t move. She was killed right in front of me, telling me to run, and I still couldn’t move. Everything just stopped for me, I guess. Nothing really mattered, and I was just really cold. They kidnapped me, and I remember them talking about selling me off because of my Oriental heritage and about raping me before they had to hand me over. Even when Armin came, it didn’t matter if I lived or died. And then – and then you were there and gave me the scarf from my mother’s murderer, and suddenly I found the strength to fight that I’d given up on. You gave me another family and you gave me hope.”

 

          She sighs heavily, breath warming Eren’s shoulder. “Look. I might not know what it’s like being alone, but I do know what it’s like to lose two mothers and a family. You gave me strength, so I hope that if not me, then our family will give you the strength you need to stop grieving like this.”

 

          The two of them are silhouetted against the moon, giving them an unearthly and sacred air. Armin, feeling like he’s intruding on something deeply profound and personal -- and very uncomfortable because of it -- silently leaves them to their healing. He’d try to help, but he feels like they just need to be alone together.

 

          (Later, when he’s reading a book over the edge of the scaffolding, he sees Eren holding Mikasa’s hand with the other hand occupied with an eggbeater; the red scarf is wrapped securely around Eren’s neck, and he's allowing himself to be led to his room. Armin smiles, flips the page, and breathes a sigh of relief. Their mother would be proud -- well, most likely a bit disapproving, but overall, she would be very proud.)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small chapter before we start getting into more plot. Damn, this short little thing fought me every step of the way, so sorry that I’m late. I still haven’t thought of any good ideas for what I want to happen while they’re at Hebe’s. Anyone have any ideas? Seriously, I have none. 
> 
> (Also, chapter title comes from the song “Sound of Silence”.)


	14. and i walk through the valley of the shadow of death (with no one to guide me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (late author is late. late author very late. late author sorry. forgive late author, yes?)  
> Okay, okay. I know this chapter is a long time coming, but the events of my life conspired against me this last month, so I’ve had no time to write at all. I also lost my motivation/inspiration for this for a while, but I rallied against my lack of inertia a bit. After finals, we have, like, a month-long break, so I’m hoping to get cracking on this then. Anyway, here, have at it. *shoves chapter at angry mob and runs away* Don’t kill me please! 
> 
> Shakespearean references in this chapter, Romeo and Juliet Act 2 Scene 2 and Hamlet Act 3 Scene 1, while the title is from Psalm 23:4. (they were pretty obvious and well-known, but just in case they went over your head).
> 
> Flower meanings: pomegranate = conceit, aloe = bitterness, yellow carnation = disdain/disappointment/rejection, anemone = forsaken, tansy = hostile thoughts.

 

 

 

          Dina can feel the weakness overcoming her limbs again. The helpless, trembling, feeble _inadequacy_ twitching its way up her spine and breaking apart her wavering resilience and lashing at her infirm mind. She’s _weak_ , in every sense of the word. Her vision disappears sporadically, her legs are fickle; she’s no more than a mewling kitten with its eyes glued together, waiting for someone to come along and crush it under a heel. Her guilt consumes her, making her retreat into her mind more often than not, with memories as her only friends.

 

_(Confidants, brothers, enemies, demons. They tear at her with claws so sweetly sharp, parting her flesh with technical precision. They whisper useless platitudes, reassurances with hateful vitriol. But it is not lies their perfect lips spill, but truth sharper than the betrayal-whetted blades Caesar endured. She welcomes them, she deserves them, they are her twisted salvation.)_

 

          She’s trembling again. All the blankets and warm drinks her mother give her don’t help, and she knows it won’t. Her affliction is not physical, no amount of tender mercy will alleviate her culpability. A cough brings blood with it, and her vision dances with black demons mocking her weakness. She wants to laugh with them, laugh until her breath runs out and her chest aches with something other than this empty misery. Because of her, someone is dead. Because of her, Eren lost his _true_ mother. Dina was never more than a stand-in for his _true_ siblings. He won’t ever want to see her again, so she’ll stay away and fester for him. Quite logical all-in-all. A life for a life; loss for loss.

 

          There’s more blood leaking from her lips, and fine tremors wrack her body and hands. She can see the delicate bones and life-blood blue veins beneath the paper-thin translucency of her traitorous skin. Her mother leans over her, face a mask of panicked horror. Dina wants to touch her mother’s face with a bloody hand, bless her with this macabre mockery of holiness, and laugh at the vile irony of it all. But all she can do is croak out a warning; “Don’t go to Eren, mother, if you value my health, for it will kill me to see him.”

 

          Then, her world becomes fragments of memories parading in front of her like stained sugar plums. Sometimes, she can feel a cool hand touch her forehead, or the wet slickness of blood and vomit sliding from her lips. Sometimes, she babbles out incoherent thoughts like misshapen strings of pearls. Her fever dreams, hallucinations, memories, they rule her with abandon, dictators on a crumbling throne. And she dreams.

 

 

          _The sunlight falling through the thin curtains to rest on the table. Eren’s hand flexing awkwardly around the unfamiliar pencil, determination crowding in his eyebrows. Her flicking a fingernail against his forehead, just because. The eyebrows drawing together, then relaxing as he slaps her hand away with a laughing scowl. Her smiling thinly, her smirk fonder than she likes. Turning a page. Tranquility._

 

_(“I’ve hurt him, mother, can’t you see? He shared a piece of his heart with me and I dashed it to pieces. Or maybe he never shared it with me in the first place – a false heart for a false sibling. Wouldn’t that be funny? Isn’t that funny, mother?”)_

 

_Her mother’s humming in the kitchen as dinner cooks, dancing slightly to the beat of her own music. The lines on her face are lighter, somehow, with Eren here with them; grief is less present on her face, and Dina likes him a little more because of that. Her mother is beautiful, even in a rough brown frock with her hair in disarray. Her mother sees her watching, and pulls her to her feet to dance. They tumble around the kitchen in an awkward fumble, but she can’t help the laughter than eases from her throat._

 

_(“I love you, mother. Please don’t sacrifice yourself for me. I couldn’t bear it if another mother died for my sins. I’m not worth it, you see …”)_

 

_There are portraits of her father in carefully tucked away in the house. Above the fireplace in the study, in boxes on the bottom shelf of a closet, on her mother’s bedside table. She has vague memories of her father, like the scent of sandalwood and pipe-smoke that clung to him in the evenings, or how his gray eyes twinkled, or how he never patronized her or treated her as anything less than a person in her own right. When he died, her mother faded around the edges and lost her vivacity, but never broke, not once, always strong. Sometimes, when she’s feeling hushed and yearning for something nameless and out-of-reach, she’ll go into the study, sit in the leather wingback chair, and compare her features to his. Their eyes are the same light gray, their chins are similarly pointed, and their hair shares the same wispy coarseness. She always leaves before her mother discovers her habit._

 

_(“At least Father didn’t die for me. He died for a cause he believed in, trying to help people in need of him. Would Father be proud of me, do you think? I think he’d be disgusted. Eren is. I’m disgusted, too.”)_

 

_Eren’s family – real family – at the door. Her mother’s quivering descriptions while her hands worry and twist at her apron, and her own furtive glances from the window and between the cracks in the door. The awful, numb, howling, sinking feeling gusting through her gut and souring her tongue. His family, there to steal away a piece of her life she had let herself love. No, not steal. She was the thief, the imposter. Two perfect siblings, light and dark, complementing and completing each other to form a tripartite that she had thought belonged to her and her mother. Stupid. She was stupid to think that she could let herself be weak and not face the ramifications. The adults look at him like they want to laugh and cry all at once, like he’s their linchpin they spin around. The siblings look at him like he’s the answer to every problem, every heartache, every sad thought. She hopes that she never looked at him like that, with such needy devotion that it consumes them, but she knows that she is as caught up with him as they are. But he’ll leave her for them, leave her and her mother in this silent house with another absence screaming for fulfillment. A quote from one of her least favorite plays swims through her head, and her fingers twitch at the bitter relevance; “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art more fair than she.” Hah. She would prefer that the situation resemble Hamlet’s more than childish overdramatization. Better death than abject misery, but if she is to suffer the slings and arrows of fate, so be it._

 

_(“I’m like the flower that blooms in a street and is surprised to find itself cruelly and carelessly crushed beneath boots and carts. Silly flower, what were you thinking? That a kind passerby would stop and water you, care for you? What flower am I, mother? Pomegranate, aloe, yellow carnation, anemone, tansy? No, wait, I’m the moon, mother. Why doesn’t he howl for me? Pale, sick, shunned moon, it can never compare to the sun.”)_

 

_Her legs unstable and weak, running, running away. The crunch of her house shrieking and groaning in protest. For a long second, she wants to go back and save her father’s portrait, and it feels like she’s killing his ghost when she stays her course. She can almost hear the monster’s heartbeat, almost feel it shudder through the ground, and she wonders about the physiology of a creature bent on killing other beings that share hearts. Then, she is sent sprawling with a hard shove to her shoulder, and rushing air sends her dress aflutter. Gravel digs into her elbow and breath stutters through her body as she watches this woman she didn’t even know get caught in the steel cage of the monster’s hand. Eren’s mother locks eyes with her, and the sheer kindness makes her heart rebel. But then her mother is there, wrenching her up to her feet and forcing her to run. She catches a glimpse of Eren’s face and promptly wishes she hadn’t. Why, she thinks, why would someone die for me with so little thought, why would she die just having gotten her son back, what kind of person would do that. And that is then all she can think about. A woman called Agatha Arlert, and her kindness unto death._

 

_(“There is such goodness in the world, mother, and part of it was extinguished by me. Evil things cause the downfall of good, don’t they? Am I bad then, mother? I feel like I am. What a silly thing for her to die for, me. Why on earth would an angel shed their wings for a demon?”)_

 

 

          Soon, even her dreams flicker to darkness and her mind is left to silence. And then even the darkness bleaches away to nothingness, and she floats along invisible currents until she, too, begins to melt away. Her heartbeat booms in the background, like the beat of some ancient war march. Slowly, and slower, and s l o w e r, a   n   d   .         .         .         

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say sorry for making you want so long and then ending this chapter on a cliffhanger, but being on the other end of this cruelty, it just feels so … empowering! (No, in all seriousness, I really do feel bad for you guys, and I am sorry, just not enough to change it.)
> 
> Poor Dina. She’s stewing in some major self-hate, huh. My thoughts are that she blames herself for Agatha’s death, thinks Eren hates her, and basically can’t cope with all these icky ‘feelings’. She acts tough, but she’s actually quite squishy and sensitive, like how she just knows that Eren will go with the Arlerts instead of staying and hurts because of it. 
> 
> Anyway, I got some major Hannes vibes from her. Oh, crap. I just realized I forgot about Hannes. Oh well. Tell me what you guys think he’s doing, where he’s been, if Hebe snapped and already hid the body, what I should do with him, etc. Reader input is always appreciated!


	15. NOT A CHAPTER (UPDATE)

 

 

 

ATTENTION: NOT A NEW CHAPTER

 

Okay, guys. I know you've all been so patient and kind to me, but I have some news. This fic is officially on hiatus. Originally, I stopped updating because I messed up at college and almost lost my scholarship, and I thought that I would get almost infinite free time to work on it over the summer. But, alas, summer has come and my life has gotten much more complicated. I'm taking three summer courses, my family and I are trying to sell our house (which meant lots of work getting it ready), my grandpa got diagnosed with a brain tumor or brain cancer, and my mom is with my grandpa in Pennsylvania and is trying to figure things out for him and for my grandma with Alzheimer's. 

 

This being said, I DO plan on coming back to this fic. I might do some revising and editing because as things stand now, I'm stumped as to how to proceed. My inspiration is basically kaput as well; I'm not sure it's because of all this crap going on, or because of these new medications my doctor has had me on. 

 

You guys have cheered me on with your comments, and I feel so disappointed in myself that I can't give you guys more. But, that's how life goes. Once things settle down, well, we'll see where things go from there. Keep being awesome, guys!

 

 

 

 


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